


A Falling Bluebird

by Ommallaredpanda



Series: A Pawn With Heart [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Loki (Marvel), Brotherly Love, Canon Divergence - Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gladiator Loki, Graphic depictions of emotions, Homophobia, Humour, Imprisonment, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel)-centric, Loki isn't a human guys, Loki tries to grow a conscience but fails miserably: The Fanfic, No Smut, Nonbinary Character, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Racism, Sakaar (Marvel), Some Humor, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), dark humour, gladiator!Loki, no beta we die like men, plot without porn, we gonna explore that stuff cus its interesting, we have fluff and angst, who needs cock and balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:00:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ommallaredpanda/pseuds/Ommallaredpanda
Summary: Loki, trapped beneath Asgard after being removed from power by Odin, is called upon by Thor, requiring his help to deal with Hela. His magic is restricted, and even his shape-shifting abilities stolen away by the All-Father.And then he is thrown from the Bifröst and lands on a strange new world, where the only two options seem to be a sex toy for the egomaniac despot or to release his inner Thor and fight his way out.But. In the midst of all this, what has befallen Asgard, why is being a Frost Giant quite helpful and how is a certain dead Queen communicating from beyond the veil?AKA: Ragnarök: But Better. What if Loki became a gladiator on Sakaar? And then chaos ensues.
Relationships: Frigga | Freyja & Loki (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Series: A Pawn With Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936522
Comments: 119
Kudos: 208





	1. Burning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna say that there is violence throughout. I can get graphic. It's not *too* bad but if you're squeamish, be on the lookout.
> 
> Also, strong language :)
> 
> Just in case: I in no way own any Marvel characters/places/etc., I'm just a sad fan who likes to spend hours writing novellas about cute alien princes, okay?

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Loki cowered in the corner, shoving himself as far away from the light as he possibly could. Even then, the deep shadow he shivered in appeared to be bathed in hot, bright light to his new eyes, though he knew that couldn’t be. He knew the dungeons to be cool, but each breath sent a firestorm down his throat, the air itself was a forest fire clawing at his skin.

Odin had stripped his magic from him, as well as whatever unnatural ability allowed him to shift forms, apparently. The All-Father had then reclaimed his throne, leaving Loki to rot in Asgard’s dungeon. No trial, no-one told of what had happened. Stripped of his Æsir façade, he was unrecognisable, and torture apparently wasn’t necessary – Asgard’s climate did it for her King.

Everything had fallen apart when Odin appeared at midnight in Loki’s bedchamber. It had been strange, seeing the face he had made his own for what had to have been months at that point. Evidently, Midgard hadn’t been good enough for the old dictator. Nothing had been said between them, all Odin had to do was chant some foreign words and whatever glamour kept Loki looking how he did was gone, and he had fallen into a panicked heap, shivering on the floor at the despot’s feet. When he regained his senses, his magic was gone and he had been dumped in a cell.

Food was delivered once a day, maybe. It was impossible to tell the time. But each instance the Einherjar fed him meagre rations, they delivered a beating as well. Disgust on their faces, force behind their blows and slurs on their lips. Perhaps they recognised him. Even if they did, he doubted that would change how he was treated.

And Loki cowered in his corner.

His eyes were wrong; they stung at what should have been pitch black.

His skin was wrong, burning at the heat, and even Æsir touch.

Everything was wrong.

He tried, sometimes, to make that wrongness go away. But all that happened was his cell filled with blood, the wrong colour. Then there was a change: hotter, brighter, more pain. Then back to his cell, where he squinted and cowered, until he tried again.

  
  


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More time had passed. He thought.

Or perhaps it hadn’t? Maybe what felt like years had only been months, weeks, hours. He couldn’t know.

At first, he had thought someone would come. Odin, declaring he had paid the price. The Avengers? To gloat? Maybe Thor. But no-one, except the shadows of Frigga flickering at the edges of his vision.

Eventually, he stopped thinking about it, or he tried to, anyway. He didn’t want to dwell on what could happen. He just had to wait. All-Father couldn’t leave him indefinitely?

He would be rescued. By Thor or Odin or Frig- no, she died, she died _she died_. By somebody.

Somebody to help the something.

It was thoughts like that which made the prisoner snigger to itself.

  
  


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Warmth.

Heat. Too bright. Too loud.

A brand was pushed against its arm. It boiled the blood in its veins, melted the prisoner. Wailing, or screaming. Incomprehensible begging. A name was in there somewhere.

The brand pulled away and a shocked, shouted apology. But the breath that came with the words burnt and cracked skin, leaving the prisoner to scream even more, until it was coughing up blood from its ruined throat.

And then cool, blessed, _blessed_ cool. Everything was still too bright, too close, but the burning was gone. He could think again.

Snow. Snow all around him, already starting to melt, but more was falling, the ceiling roiling with dark clouds.

Loki gasped in a breath, the first one in oh so long which hadn’t brought pain with it. He sucked in another, gasping. “Thank you, _thank y_ -” He broke out coughing, retching and blood dropped onto the snow, staining it a deep purple. But that was nothing. Suddenly back to his senses, no longer too hot to think, he assessed the damage.

Welts and open sores and bruises spanned his body. New wounds, unhealed, across his wrists and everywhere else. Just seeing that skin reminded him how he got those scars and he automatically reached for them. But a panicked yell and he was grabbed by the brands again, immobilised.

“No. Loki, _no_!” A voice, familiar, all but screamed close by him.

It hurt, hurt a lot, but not enough to send him back into that haze of non-thought. The brands, it came to him, were hands. He studied them.

Large, pale, Æsir hands. Calloused and strong and familiar. They looked like Thor’s hands.

But Thor killed monsters on sight. It wasn’t Thor. An impostor? Odin? Or maybe someone who simply had hands like Thor’s. It didn’t matter.

There was no more pain but from the hands, so Loki was happy. He smiled in an attempt to prove it. Frigga’s voice, in the back of his head, told him to mind his manners. “Thank you, your kindness and mercy… It is greatly appreciated.” The words should have stung, but Loki found they were genuine the moment they left his mouth.

He felt the hands flinch and loosen, and Loki’s arms dropped to his sides. Free, he twisted to study this new person’s face. Blue at the edges of his vision.

Whoever it was, they had done a good job of impersonating Thor; Loki could tell even through the stupidly bright light, making it nearly impossible to see.

“Oh… Loki…” He was nearly crying, face all scrunched up. Loki blinked, confused. Even the voice was spot on, but Thor didn’t _cry_. It was weak.

Then another voice, this one familiar from more recently. A figure, shrouded and rendered almost invisible by the glaring lights. It stood in the entryway, Gungnir in hand and blocking any route of escape. As if he could.

Impostor Thor (or perhaps he was a fever-dream, like Frigga?) turned to the figure and nodded. When he could see his face again, any hint of weakness had evaporated in the overbearing Asgard heat.

“I have a deal for you.” Not-Thor said.

He took a breath, glanced to the vague shape, which maybe nodded, maybe held still, Loki couldn’t tell with all the light. “Your magic partially restored for assistance, after which you return here.”

He didn’t hesitate, opened his mouth to accept, but stopped. It wasn’t good to seem overeager, Frigga’s voice told him in the back of his mind. Old lessons, left over from learning how to be a Prince at her knee. “Partially restored?” He managed to croak out.

“Simple magic – illusions, healing, but nothing requiring significant power. Shape-changing will remain locked away, but it should make you more resistant to… this.” Not-Thor gestured. He probably meant how simple air was too hot to bear. Thor, if it really was him, knew better than anyone how much Loki relied on his seiðr to make up for physical weaknesses. Without it, he could still function, just about, but it was like trying to breathe water and see through thick cloth.

“Return… here? Assistance?”

Thor seemed exasperated. It might actually be him. Not killing the enemy because its help was required… Thor might do that. “I need to do something. You are a powerful mage. And after you’ve helped me, you will be imprisoned here again, but with your magic partially restored.”

Loki opened his mouth to ask some more, maybe to bargain for his freedom, but Thor reached out and grasped him by the chin, sending pain shooting like lava through his skull. Loki bit back a whimper and nodded. “I accept your deal,” He said, careful to keep his voice from wavering.

“Good,” Thor said.

The Gungnir-wielding figure walked away, leaving the barrier down and the roiling clouds above, covering the bare stone ceiling, slowly dissipated. But Loki didn’t notice. He was too busy feeling his seiðr rushing through him once again. It felt amazing, the smothering blanket of lethargy and low-level pain and _powerlessness_ was swept clear away. He gasped, bowing under the sudden force of it, like an amputated limb had suddenly reattached.

And the air no longer burnt him, but was only uncomfortably warm. The bright lights were still bright, but stopped lancing through his skull. Finally, the pain was gone. Loki felt cold tracking down his face. Was that how he cried, now? He couldn’t muster the energy to be embarrassed.

It took a moment to create an illusion, and once he felt it settle over him, a second skin, he glanced at his hands, braced against his knees where he knelt. Smooth, pale skin. He didn’t mean to, but he let out a breath he had been holding, more frost on his cheeks.

Loki then turned his attention to the matter at hand, looked up. Thor – maybe an imposter, maybe a dream, maybe even real – was getting up from where he had been kneeling or sat on the dungeon floor. It was still near impossible to see, make out details, but Loki drank in what little was visible to him.

Silver armour, blonde flowing hair, piercing blue eyes and Mjolnir at his hip. Battle-ready, yet something was off. His posture, body language. After a thousand years at this man’s side, Loki knew how he stood, walked and talked inside out. And Thor was wary, stony-faced and there was a distinct lack of _something_ in his gaze. Proof things had gone awry? Proof he was a pretender?

“-oki. Loki.” Someone was saying. He blinked, shaken a little. “Snap out of it. We have to go.”

He nodded eventually, studied that face again, but then a hand was on his shoulder, thankfully it rested atop his clothes, but the heat was still intense. It didn’t shatter the illusion. “Get up!” Whatever patience Thor might have had was gone.

Loki obeyed. He pushed himself up and tried not to stumble. The sores and other injuries were already almost gone, his seiðr automatically knitting them up. Even with his best efforts, Loki swayed once he regained his feet as his head spun from sitting down so long. He shot out a hand and leant on the wall, gasping the warm air, glad that he could breathe without destroying his lungs.

Thor scowled, but waited. Once Loki managed to stand unaided, he removed his hand from the ergi’s shoulder. With a swish of his cape, he turned away and began to walk. Loki stumbled after him, fast as he could.

It was odd, outside of his cell after so long not being able to leave. Around him, the blank stone arched up gracefully to meet above their heads. The walls were studded with golden barriers. Behind them, the scum of the Nine Realms paced and chatted and played cards. Sometimes, he could spy a fight, or the aftermath of one. As the two of them passed, Einherjar straightened and inmates glowered out at them, sometimes a surprised set of eyes tracked Loki, examining him. Possibly trying to figure out why his face was familiar, and if they even remembered the second ‘Prince’ of Asgard, puzzling over why he had been in the dungeons.

After so long barely moving, Loki’s legs felt sore before they were halfway. Even with his seiðr, he truly was pathetic. With a silent snarl, he pushed on, studiously ignoring the growing ache. And even as they advanced on the exit, everything became, if possible, brighter and warmer, brighter and warmer, _brighter and warmer_ , until it stung to open his eyes and the discomfort of before was back, if more of a tingle than true pain.

His foot hit something, a step? Loki tumbled forward with a yelp and he felt the illusory second skin waver, then solidified as he poured strength and focus into it.

Somewhere, a voice. Thor’s, through the focus as he solidified the illusion. A few more seconds, and then it was done. Loki turned his attention back to the real world and tried to open his eyes only to squeeze them back into a squint at the ridiculous amount of light, which rendered the world almost entirely white.

“Loki, your tricks no longer work on me.” The disembodied voice warned, anger in its tone. “I’ll remind you of this once; betray me and I _will_ kill you.”

He nodded quickly, ran his hands over the stairs. “A second…” He said, already working on another spell. Then it was released, settled on his eyes, and suddenly everything appeared out of the blank white wall. Loki blinked and smiled slightly at his small triumph.

Thor stared down, impassive. Then he turned, continued up the now-visible steps. Loki scrambled to his feet, cast a quick glance over himself. His wounds had completely healed at that point, his pale palms had sustained a small scrape each, but they dissolved as he watched. His clothes were tattered and dirty and ill-fitting; the prison uniform of Asgard was meant for creatures larger than Loki.

Above him, Thor marched upwards and he steeled himself to follow. Then he did.

  
  


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Seeing Asgard again… Loki couldn’t contain his small gasp.

Swaying trees, bustling people and smoky fires filled the air with that distinctive campfire smell. It felt so right to be there, walking among his people, whom he had ruled for only months. But despite that, his impact was visible.

Women were at forges, crafting weapons and tools and everything else. Vanir, elves and even dwarves mingled with the Æsir crowd. Market stalls were colourful with other Realms’ goods and staffed by an array of people, including a towering Jötunn Loki could make out in the distance. He doubted Odin had been happy with how much more chaotic everything was when he returned.

Taking in his Realm, basking in the searing heat and gorgeous scenery he hadn’t seen in _so long_ , he forgot to walk. Thor noticed, turned back. His golden hair was a halo about his face, and his armour spoke of Æsir nobility. Loki suddenly understood how Midgard had mistaken Thor for a God.

“Move,” He said, voice low and threatening. Loki dipped his head. Whoever this was, Thor or not, they had _rescued_ – the word felt sour, even in his mind – him. Had returned his seiðr, allowed him to see his home one last time. Because there was no denying, now, after so long away and wondering if he would ever see it again, how attached he was to Asgard. Acknowledging the sentiment felt dirty, even though it was only to himself.

But Loki was in his debt. So he didn’t resist the command and moved, strode to Thor’s side, and followed him to wherever they had to go.

As they walked, Loki drank in the scenery, studying every soaring tower and each passing face. Whatever Thor wanted his help for; it had to be deadly if the famous warrior couldn’t handle it by himself. Therefore, Loki doubted he would make it out alive. He would try to survive… Or maybe he wouldn’t. But, if he died, he wanted to remember this place.

Far too soon, they arrived at the Rainbow Bridge. It glittered under their feet and lit up at each step. And again, they were across in what felt like seconds, the sea beneath them waving goodbye. He resisted the familiar urge to jump.

Loki stood in the Bifröst, next to Thor and tried to ignore memories which welled up.

Heimdall – how Odin had managed to find that old meddler, Loki didn’t know – stood before them, glowering at the prisoner. “Are you sure of this, my Prince?” He asked.

“No,” Thor said lightly. “But I’ll manage.”

The Watchman dipped his head. Then it felt like he was gazing into Loki’s soul, flaying him bare with those infamous golden eyes. “I will be watching.” It was a warning, threat and statement all rolled into one, but it was the calm violence in his voice which made Loki shiver.

And then Heimdall mounted the podium and opened the Bifröst, sending the two tumbling into space, hurtling towards Midgard in a beam of multi-coloured light.

Even glimpsing the Void outside their miniscule safe area sent Loki’s mind spinning back into memory – Chitauri, the Other, _Him_ …

But then it ended and they were spat out onto long grass. Thor landed gracefully, and Loki fell down from the impact and distraction, desperately shoving the sensation of falling, falling _falling always falling_ from his mind, back into its little locked-up box. The older warrior glanced at him and raised a condescending eyebrow.

Loki felt his face burning; he hadn’t fell from Bifröst travel since he was a child. It was just all so sudden. He hadn’t had the time to compose himself, pretend nothing mattered and that he wasn’t broken into gravel on the inside.

He turned to their surroundings as he stood, forcing his face into a blank mask as he strived to return to that cold and calculating persona.

Grass, swaying gently in the steady wind, reached halfway up his shins and tickled him through the torn cloth. Despite Midgard’s typically built-up scenery, there wasn’t a building or human in sight. Above them, an endless blue sky interrupted only by a few wispy clouds, floating before the sun, which leant a golden tint to the sea of green, as well as the ocean behind them as rays bounced off the waves.

Peaceful as it was, Loki couldn’t discern why Thor had led him there. To execute him? To try and impress upon him the importance of Midgard? To play tag?

Nothing was happening, other than the quiet swishing of grass and insects buzzing. He ran his eyes over the scenery again, but he hadn’t missed anything the first time. Confused, he looked over at Thor, who stood stock still, but also appeared to be somewhat put off. Was something missing? Was something wrong?

Silence lay thick and heavy, Loki resisted the urge to shuffle his feet and fidget. Thankfully, Midgard’s climate was far less taxing than Asgard’s; it was almost _dark_ in comparison, and the temperature was pleasant. It was a vast improvement, if only in that one aspect.

Should he say something? The silence was stretching and Loki felt like he was biting his tongue to keep a torrent of words in. Thor glanced across at him and suddenly he was looking into clear blue eyes. Loki kept his flinch under wraps, but immediately turned away.

Something pulled at his senses and he turned to face it, only to see a sparking hole open up and two people fly through, tearing through the air towards him.

Loki pulled in a gasp of air but shock took second seat to nearly a thousand years of training and experience. He flung himself to the side and rolled to his feet metres from where the two crashed, sending clumps of mud flying. “Thor!” He called a warning, the name out the moment he had breath to speak it.

Before him was a man and woman, one in a cape and robes and the other wore a tight fitting suit with a head of flowing black hair. They tumbled on the grass, evidently having hit it at force.

Confused, Loki glanced back at Thor, only to see him with wary eyes and Mjolnir in his fist. So, one, or both, of the newcomers was a threat. He dropped into a crouch and slid a conjured knife into his hand, feeling the comforting weight as he waited for indication of whom to attack. The Crown Prince had brought him along for backup, so he’d back him up.

Compliance would be the easiest way to lower Thor’s guard and escape. Why go back to the cell if there was an opportunity not to?

It didn’t take long. The man kicked the woman with a yell and flew away. Loki cocked his head, but quickly noticed the energy swirling about the human’s cape. She laughed, a mad cackle and made a motion with her empty hand, as if throwing something, but a spear grew from her arm, sliding out of her palm and was released, soared after the man.

Flash of light, spearing from the heavens, then a deafening roar and the weapon disintegrated. He flew to them, landed in a crouch and stood, a grim smile on his face as he greeted Thor. The man’s face was split open at his cheek, nose and lips, with bruises already forming. But, for a mortal, he looked to be in good shape. He turned to Loki, made a move to proffer his hand and opened his mouth to speak, but froze.

Thor spoke for him. “This is Doctor Strange. He needs our help removing this one,” He gestured at the crazy woman, “from Earth.”

Loki glanced at ‘Doctor Strange’ dubiously. “And what do we get in return?”

The Æsir snorted. “You are here to help, not ask questions,” He said. “Remember your place.”

Loki scowled at that and felt familiar anger rise. “If I am to help you, I _must_ know wh-”

“You brought your crazy brother along!?” The mortal regained his voice. Loki snarled at the interruption and turned his widest smile on the Doctor, making sure to show as many teeth as possible. Unfortunately, this one seemed to possess a spine and didn’t run screaming.

Thor grimaced, patience thinning. “We can talk after she,” He pointed at the woman with Mjolnir, “Is dealt with. Unless I should come back at a better time?”

At the Prince’s words, Strange acquiesced and, with a last wary glance at Loki, turned to face her. They stood in a line; Thor in the middle, separating the two magicians. Despite the strangeness of what he had been asked to help with, Loki shrugged his concerns away and rolled his knife in his hands, watching the woman.

She was unlike anyone he had seen before. Not human, nor anything else he could think of. Her face was angular, sallow and paler than his own, which was unusual of itself. Even quite far from them, across the grass, the menace she exuded was palpable. Perhaps it was the spiked black-and-silver armour, or the graceful way she held herself, but he _knew_ she was deadly.

Thor broke the standoff. “Who are you?” He spoke brusquely, face stony. It was disconcerting – he really had changed.

A barked laugh. “So it is true.” She prowled forward. “You don’t recognise me.” Seemed to consider them. Then; “I am Hela, Goddess of Death and Bane of the Nine Realms.” A smirk cracked her cold face with amusement. “Kneel.”

Loki felt his eyebrows fly into his hairline. “Beg pardon?” He really wanted to tack a ‘bitch’ on the end of that. But it wouldn’t do to be overly antagonistic; perhaps this Hela could prove to be an ally.

“Kneel,” She repeated, “Before your _Queen_.”

Strange snorted somewhere to his left. “What is it with aliens and thinking they can rule Earth?”

Thor hummed an agreement. “I don’t think so,” He said, faux-polite. Hela smiled at him, not bothering to answer.

And everything burst into action.

Mjolnir flung towards her, Strange’s cape blocked the result from view. A dull thud, Hela cackled. Thor was running towards her, a strange look on his face, then a blast of energy smashed into Hela and Loki saw the black figure go flying, twisting elegantly to land upright. He quickly conjured a blade and flung it, piercing through the air until it hung centimetres from her neck, but was then batted aside by her hand. She smirked at him, flicked imaginary dust off of her armour.

Loki took the opportunity to glance over to his bro- Thor and saw the Æsir holding Mjolnir, staring down at it; he looked _scared_. That couldn’t be good.

But Hela was advancing again, speeding towards them faster than should have been possible. Spears flung from her hands, moving too quickly for him to see. Loki managed to twist away from one, into the path of the next, which he knocked off course, then dropped down to avoid another, but only barely. It scraped his nose, leaving a bloody furrow. The moment he managed to clamber to his feet, she was on him, a blade slicing towards his middle, ready to split him in two. Loki flinched away, jumping back and the tip dragged through his clothes, tearing another hole.

But then she was gone, twisting away from him with a last slash of some blade, moving too fast for him to know anything other than that it was a _very_ fast moving black shard of death. There was no time to catch his breath.

Thor.

The dancing pillar of black and silver spikes was on Thor in a second, slashing and tearing at him from all angles. She blocked Loki’s view, he couldn’t see what was happening. He felt another knife weigh down his hand, flung it, flung the next, created a hail of sharp missiles. He aimed for her spine, her neck, between the ribs to pierce a lung. But nothing hit; they were knocked aside even as she fought Thor.

Another bright flash, from a bolt of energy soaring from Strange, and she was distracted long enough for Thor to get a blow in. But Hela didn’t go flying this time. Instead, the Æsir Prince did, and then the mortal was facing her alone.

He dodged her first spear, the second, but the third got him, sank into his shoulder and he let out an ear-piercing scream. Hela stood above the human, her skull of a face twisted into a grin, readying to deliver the final blow. Thor was getting up, frantically trying to charge her, but it was Loki who halted the inevitable.

He sent a great blast of fire at the woman, it burnt the illusion away at his fingertips, where flames spouted from them and galloped across the grass and slammed into the self-proclaimed Goddess. Odin’s magic tightened about his neck, squeezing, but Loki didn’t let the flame waver.

It clawed at a black shield she had conjured in the last second, licked around the rim to try and incinerate her. Hela threw her weight into the metal, and suddenly his seiðr was reversed, tinted and slimy against his skin as it rushed back to him, the gout of fire shrivelling away. Loki snarled at the foreign sensation and sent a pulse of power through his hands, obliterating the black which tried to curl up his arms. Another squeeze at his neck.

In the seconds it took to do that, Hela had closed the distance once again and was slashing at him.

Loki’s body was leaden from the exertion; he had been exhausted simply from _walking_ to the Bifröst, but the battle had sapped what little strength remained. He made an effort to dodge away, twist and turn and strike back, but it came to nothing.

Hela kicked him, square in the stomach, he fell down, gasping for breath, felt the illusion flickering. He grasped at it, desperately shoved his remaining seiðr into maintaining it.

A blade hung over his head for a moment, then came crashing down and he made no attempt to move away. At least he had died fighting.

Death didn’t come.

How disappointing.

Loki scrambled back from her; she was twisted away from him, paying him no attention. He fumbled with his magic, attempted to conjure a knife, but nothing happened.

Thor was facing Hela, his hand outstretched, trembling. Behind him, Doctor Strange lay on the grass. He had removed the spear, or it had disappeared. He was trying to heal himself, pulling blood back into his fragile body from where it had spread over the crushed leaves.

“That… Is not possible…” Thor said.

“You have no _idea_ of what is possible.”

And a deafening _crack_ , then rubble fell to the ground and lightning sprayed from it, caught Loki, carried him up and sent him flying, tumbling head over heels.

He crashed back down, slid to a stop with his hands hanging over the cliff edge. It took a moment, but he heaved himself to his feet, back from the sheer drop, wobbling unsteadily. Thor was staring shocked at the pile of stones…

Mjolnir.

Hela had destroyed it.

Things were _far_ worse than he had thought.

He needed to go, damn the consequences.

Loki looked skywards and yelled for Heimdall; “Bring us back!!”

“Loki, _no_!!”

Nothing happened, Hela was laughing, mocking, but then he ran, ignoring how his head hurt and his feet screamed at every impact. She shot weapons, but they thudded into the dirt at his feet, one whistled an inch before his face. Wherever she had been banished to, evidently the years had left her somewhat rusty, Loki thought vindictively.

And then he had a hand on Thor’s arm and this time, when he called, the Bifröst opened and they were away.

  
  


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Respite, finally, a chance to breathe.

But then Thor ruined it. He yelled wordlessly, grabbed Loki’s arm and tugged.

Was he trying to fling him from the Bifröst?!

No, he realised as he looked down. Hela gazed up at him through her cold blue eyes. So alike Thor’s in colour, yet so foreign in everything else.

It was strange to be chased through the Rainbow Bridge, but Loki tried to shake away his exhaustion, summoned another knife, only managed to conjure a wavering blade, but flung it anyway. Her mouth was open in a laugh, but he couldn’t hear it for the space about him rushing past. The blade was caught, turned against him and a bolt of energy hit him in the shoulder, burning.

And then his back was against the wall of light, bursting through it and oh, that _hurt_. He braced his limbs, even as he began to slip, slide and then he had broken into the Void.

His last glimpse was of Thor wrestling Hela, his own body breaching the light, sending shards flying and revealing tears of blackness; the space between Yggdrasil’s branches. Loki managed another gasp of breath, which then burst out of him in a scream as there was no pressure.

For a moment, he could still see the beam, but then it was gone as he hurtled through the nothingness. No atmosphere, nothing to breathe. Nobody to help, talk to, think about. Just himself.

Memories filled his vision, laying themselves over the never-ending black black _black_

An island in the dark a planet cracked open like an eggsh-

-not being allowed to leave regretting it when he tried

could heimdall see him-?

-omeone coming to help

why they not come?

thor

_thor_

_brother help me_

  
  


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Black spots interrupted images. That had to mean time had passed?

Burning?

Felt like heat against his skin.

Loki opened his eyes, he didn’t remember closing them, but was blinded by _things_.

Which existed!

There was a cloud, he hurtled into it, through it and moisture clung to his skin, evaporated from the flames shrouding his entire body.

Entering an atmosphere. Loki was entering an atmosphere.

He felt like dancing, like hopping and screaming and kissing the Norns’ feet. Which was all impossible, since he was falling at a deadly speed, even to him, towards what looked like bone-shattering ground.

“Shit…” Loki tried to say, the wind stealing his words from his lips.

Well. He hadn’t been dead set on emerging from this alive. At least if he died, he wouldn’t have to deal with Thor and Odin and how _weak_ his imprisonment had left him and-

Metal in his face, crushed his nose and shattered some teeth. He bounced off, limbs pin wheeling as he spun out of control. Ground, sky, ground sky _ground sky groundsk_

He threw up, spinning too fast to see.

Everything was a blur of dirty chrome and washed out blue.

Impact.

Starburst patterns crashed in his eyes. His head pounded. Bones smashed together. One hand was nailed backwards. Hissing, crackling. In his ears. Stench of rot and faeces in his nose. Slowly, his senses returned to him.

Something was poking into his side.

Loki groaned.

Had he passed out? Too groggy to answer his own question, he heaved upright. And promptly threw up. Nothing in his stomach but bile.

Everything spun. As if he hadn’t crashed, but was still falling endlessly never stopping never slowing no-one _did you mour_ -

Movement.

Sound.

Loki blinked in an attempt to stop the dizziness. If he wasn’t alone, he couldn’t afford this. Even his vision was blurry. What was wrong with him? Panic.

Golden hair in the corner of his eye.

**Concussion, my dear boy.**

Yes, that was it. He’d hit his head on the way down and he gasped in a breath, forced it out through his nose as slowly as he could, until his lungs strained. Calm again.

Aware of what the problem was, it was childishly simple to fix. Loki snorted at how easily he’d been overwhelmed by a simple knock to the head. Blood, trickling down the side of his face, was pulled back into his body as the wound knitted back up. A crack and his hand was usable once again. More, bones crunched and ground together until all was right.

Loki smirked, felt marginally more like himself and smoothed down his prison uniform, but froze stock still.

Those weren’t his hands. They were, but he didn’t want them to be.

Cold tickled his back, breathed into his ear and he shivered.

Piercing the fog which encased his mind; sound of engines roaring. He didn’t have time for this.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut. Banished the terror and indecision and disgust and _all of it_.

Something had happened. When he left Thor, the situation hadn’t looked good. He was curious ( _nothing_ more) as to what had happened. Therefore, he had to survive to find out.

Survival and not being able to look at his own _damned_ _hands_ were mutually exclusive.

He tried to open his eyes again. Couldn’t. Cast the illusion, this time he inscribed it into a palm with his fingernail and felt cool liquid trickling, dripping, and then the satisfying white-hot as his seiðr bound onto the glyphs. Hopefully it wouldn’t unravel so quickly, this time.

That done, it was time to start running.

How proud Thor would be.

And when he barely managed to evade (flee, tail between his legs) them for five minutes, the heat in his face was most certainly from how close that mad woman had parked her… Ship? Skiff? Flying vehicle, with _very hot_ _fire_ shooting out the end of it.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ


	2. Courtesan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is gen, with no smut.
> 
> If you want to read it as slash, feel free to but I'm not gonna write stuff like that, just a heads up in case there might be any confusion.
> 
> Potential spoiler alert for the trigger warning!
> 
> TW: violence, mentions of non-con touching/kissing.
> 
> Enjoy :3

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Mad creatures crowded over Loki, their faces hidden behind masks and pieces of worn cloth. They weren’t strong, nor particularly troublesome by themselves, but with what felt like a hundred swarming and a net cast over him and Loki was finding it hard to keep his eyes open anyway and-

The woman had made a dramatic entrance.

Her vehicle swooped in low overhead, singing his hair. It looked unwieldy and plain, compared to the spoils of Asgard, but her ship was shining new in this alien scrap heap.

Loki struggled to his feet. Or tried to. His efforts were met with a boot in the stomach, after which he lay still. At least he could still observe from his position on the floor. It wasn’t very comfortable, but at least he had a front row seat for whatever was about to ‘go down’.

With a clunk and ominous whirring, doors pulled back and a silver ramp extended. The woman was revealed. Even from where Loki lay, he could smell alcohol. It was like a fist to his nose and he coughed involuntarily, eyes beginning to water.

About him, the crowd murmured and milled. A leader emerged, weapon in hand. Or maybe it was just a rusty stick – there really was no telling. Things were bad if he had been captured by some savages with _sticks_.

“He’s _mine_.”

Loki shook away his thoughts and looked up at the woman. She had a bottle in hand and was swaying enough to indicate there was a mountain of similar receptacles somewhere. She started to strut down the ramp. And promptly fell off.

So much for rescue, then.

A section of the crowd of… Whatever they were started towards her and he would swear that one said; “Look! More food."

Cannibals, lovely. But an idea sprung from the images of being eaten alive that his imagination decided to conjure up.

“Wait!” He yelled, managed to catch the attention of a few. That would have to do. “I’m poisonous.” Oh, he hoped they were as dumb as they looked. “Very, _very_ poisonous!!”

Some recoiled, more blankly stared at him and the rest continued towards the woman. If she couldn’t defend herself, that was her problem. Which left him with what was probably half of the cannibals.

“If you eat me, you’ll die.” He tried to explain as he had when teaching Thor; as if to someone lacking a brain. From the look of them, it may have been an accurate assumption.

One – with the maybe-gun maybe-stick – scrunched up its face. Evidently, thinking hurt these creatures. “But… No! You lie. Poison food is colourful!”

“I am _very_ colourful,” Loki said, glowering and with no idea what sort of threat _that_ was, but it didn’t matter. The woman was still alive, somehow, and seemed to be back in action.

“Wait!” She hauled herself to her feet. “Wait.” She was finally upright but still holding onto some dead beast for support. “He’s mine. So if you want him, you go through me.”

Pointy-stick-man struggled with that for a second, but managed to speak again, wonder of wonders. “We’ve already got him.”

“Alright. Then I guess I’ll go through you.” She shrugged and bashed her gauntlets together. Nothing happened.

The savages seemed to laugh, but she did it again and sparks flew. Again, again and then light flickered up in circles about her arms and what appeared to be just pillars of metal on her ship heaved, cracked into position. A hail of bolts later and the cannibals fell, ripped apart and spewing blood and their insides and splinters of bone.

Loki blinked. Looked from the massacre to this unbelievably drunk woman and back. Was she a new ally, or wanted to capture him for her own purposes…? From the look on her face as she approached, it was the latter.

But he had to try.

Loki turned the full force of his smile on her, warmed his expression and pulled the metal net off to stand up. “L- Luke of Jötunheim at your service,” He said, offering a hand.

She gave him a _look_ and avoided his grip. Instead, she slapped his head, which was odd in itself, but then lightning was flying through him, searing inside and out.

  
  


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Loki came to with his face pressed against a pane of glass. Through it, he could see the planet he had crashed onto.

It was… Odd to say the least. Something about it reminded him of Midgard – perhaps the towering spikes of metal, or the constant grey, black, white colour scheme. But these buildings looked like a ribcage, open to the air and each one curving inwards. When he peered closer, there were blooms of red and blue and yellow and the chaotic mess was spread over constructions and heaps of refuse. Great piles of waste had accumulated in mountains about the settlement he was flying over. Above them, colourful rings let out a tumbling stream of junk. Portals? If only he had his equipment and books, this would have been fascinating to study.

Perhaps, if Thor had fallen from the Bifröst too, he would end up here…

“You’re awake,” A voice slurred. The woman.

Loki was unable to properly move about with his hands secured behind his back. After a few moments of wiggling, it became apparent that his feet had suffered the same fate. He gave up on the undignified squirming after only managing to turn so he could somewhat see her, one cheek still squished into the glass. “Who are you?” He asked.

“Same to you, ‘ _Luke_ ’. Not a very Jötunn name.” There was no sting in her voice. She was probably too drunk to care, or to check what she said. Another bottle had found its way into her fist.

Loki studied her for a second. The armour was leather and a familiar pattern, quite reminiscent of Sif. It was unlike any he had seen from this world so far, so she must have either remembered how to make it or brought it with her from however she got here. Without the imminent danger of being eaten, Loki could clearly sense her Æsir aura - the distinct eddies of seiðr which marked creatures of Asgard. He raised an eyebrow; no wonder it looked familiar.

“Never heard of a Frost Giant like you,” She drawled. The pungent smell of alcohol hit him again, but he managed not to choke on it this time. “You’re too small. And white.”

The state she was in, perhaps he could escape? “Which Realm is this?” Best to appear a typical, dim-witted Jötunn. And any information on the side would be welcome.

“ _Realm_?” Evidently, she was drunk enough to take the bait. He doubted she was this slow sober. “Sakaar. This is a _planet_ , imbecile.”

Loki hadn’t heard of it before, but didn’t let that deter him. If there were portals, there would be a way to somewhere he did know. “A planet...?”

“I forgot what it’s like to deal with your lot. _Yes,_ a planet. Round ball in space.” She huffed and took another swig. “I’m not drunk enough to deal with fuckin’ _snowmen_ …” And, before he could attempt to overpower her or jump out a window, electricity once again sparked from the thing on his head. He struggled against it for a second, but then let the sweeping tide of unconsciousness take him.

  
  


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A nudge in his side. The woman leant over him, one boot buried in his ribs. Loki scowled at her automatically but quickly smoothed it away. He doubted he’d be able to create an alliance with her, but he could hope. “Get up. I’m not carrying you.” She said and clambered out of the holding pit.

Loki slowly stood, affecting stiffness. With her back turned, he could see a silver control tucked into her belt. It was within reach and he thought about grabbing it for a moment. But no. Making an ally of this estranged Asgardian would be hard enough without stealing. And he doubted she wouldn’t notice - he wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating her, drunk or not.

Once his captor was out, Loki pulled himself up the rungs and tried to be subtle about surveying the vehicle. Cans and bottles were littered in small heaps everywhere. A few had landed in the pilot’s chair. Everything looked foreign to him, but even with all the blinky dials and flashing buttons, Loki didn’t doubt he’d be able to learn quickly, if he ever needed to fly it.

A poke in the back and they were off, with him stumbling down the ramp and her setting a swift pace.

They had landed on a large, circular platform high above teeming streets - somewhat similar to a Midgard helipad. Vibrant neon strip lights circled it, glaringly bright. Before the two, an archway led into a colourful hallway, bustling with people. Each one wore some variation of stupidly over-the-top clothing, mixed with barely-functional armour. Loki even spied a woman strutting through the crowd wearing nothing but two intricate, coin-sized plates over her nipples and a string between her legs - it didn’t even count as an armoured bikini. He quickly averted his eyes in favour of glancing over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” A push to his back. Loki stumbled forwards a step, but smiled goofily instead of threatening her with a five-course meal of her own entrails. “You have a name, right?”

Apparently, the woman didn’t have his restraint. In a moment, there was a knife at his throat and his back was against the wall. “ _Shut up_.” And then she grabbed him, spun him around and shoved him. Loki didn’t keep his feet this time, but fell onto hands and knees. “You really think I’ll let you go if your fake face is pretty enough? Get a grip.” She let the words sit, festering. And then kicked him with more force than strictly necessary. “Now _move_.”

Loki was very aware of how he was completely unbound - no rope nor cuffs, except for the little electric disc at his temple. It took every ounce of his willpower not to rip the woman’s knife away and gut her. Evidently, an alliance wasn’t viable at the current time, but if he could keep up the guileless act… Being underestimated always helped.

By some miracle, he managed to stand up and smooth murder away from his face. “Sorry…” He said, affecting true remorse. It made his stomach turn. Forget escaping this forsaken world. He was going to enslave the population and feed their organs to this _bitch_ in little bite-sized chunks, with eyeball purée. And then-

Pulled upright, the world spun about as he was hauled onto his feet. Even by Asgardian standards, she was strong. Loki forced the scowl away and thanked her, trying his best to appear and sound somewhat brain-damaged instead of genocidal. She just snorted, glowered and shoved him forward once again, though not as forcefully this time. Progress?

The two continued through halls in every colour imaginable, with equally vibrant inhabitants. Incomprehensible patterns, potentially writing, was spread along every wall in not-quite-concentric rings. It was strange to not understand the words, if that was what they were. Apparently, All-Speak didn’t work here.

Eventually, after what was probably nearly half an hour of walking through a maze of indecipherable hallways and rooms, they seemed to be nearing their final destination. A door set inconspicuously into the wall, but far less people were roaming here and there was an air of neglect to it; rust on the door and mould creeping across the ceiling.

But, just as they reached it and the Æsir started to fumble with an unwieldy unlocking mechanism, someone walked up to them and coughed. When she looked up, they spoke. “Scrapper 142.”

She grinned back, baring her teeth in a sarcastic smile. “Hiroim. And you’re talking to me. Why?”

“The Grandmaster and myself were wondering why you hadn’t brought this latest prize before him?” ‘Hiroim’ looked Loki over. “Or is it not up to your usual standards?”

Scrapper 142 shrugged. “Something like that,” And promptly returned to unlocking the door.

He hummed, assessing the ‘prize’ again. “Actually, I think His Grandness would appreciate such a _delectable_ young creature.” He turned and strode away without a backwards glance. “Bring it.”

Behind Loki, the woman raised both eyebrows. She sighed, but then grabbed him forcefully by the arm and dragged him after her. “Don’t get your hopes up,” 142 said over her shoulder as Loki stumbled behind her. “Either you’ll die slow from STDs or they won’t like you and you’ll die quick in the ring.” She smirked at him. “Better turn up the charm, blue boy.”

That sounded alarming, but at least it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with _her_ anymore.

It took a lot less time to arrive before the new destination, tailing behind Hiroim. People parted for him, some even bowing. Maybe they would’ve licked his boots if he wasn’t walking. So; someone of importance. And the title (name?) Grandmaster wasn’t exactly subtle.

A few moments after Hiroim slipped in, both doors swung open, revealing the most opulent set of rooms yet. It was almost an exact opposite of Asgard’s great hall, but still managed to remind him of it, somehow. There was nothing regal about this packed scene, but it was still recognisably a King’s hall.

Scrapper 142 nudged him again and Loki entered, careful to keep himself from staring about wide-eyed. It wasn’t wondrous, nor too far removed from other things he had seen, but the chaotic nature of it was new.

At the end of the hall, a man lounged in his chair, with an entourage of more strangely dressed creatures sprawled on couches and standing around, talking. The man was relaxed in his seat, with piercing eyes and grey hair. His clothes weren’t as shocking as some he had seen recently, but still a gaudy gold, blue and red combination, with a stripe of cyan paint over his lips. Hiroim was leant down over him, a hand resting on his chest and breath rustling his hair as he talked, mouth almost brushing the man’s ear.

The lackey moved back to stand behind the chair and its occupant caught Loki’s gaze. He froze, felt unable to move. Those eyes were somewhat warm, but with the threat of becoming a dangerous blaze, capable of consuming everything in its path.

“Oh, he’s _wonderful_.” The Grandmaster, presumably, said. Then, with a wave of his hand dismissed the crowd of onlookers, and they obediently filed out. Loki’s captor approached the Grandmaster, leaving him to tag along behind. “I assume it’s a he?”

The Scrapper shrugged and her prisoner scowled. “I am, in fact, a he,” Loki tried his best to keep his tone mellow, but wasn’t sure he succeeded. The man’s eyebrows rose and he considered his newest offering. Said offering jutted out his chin.

“142, I _do_ enjoy your visits.” He turned to her, “Hiroim, don’t I always say; she’s this word, begins with ‘B’.”

“Bit-”

“No! Hiroim!” His expressive face shot from somewhat friendly to scandalised, “Best, 142, _best_. I always say you’re the best.” He reached out to pat her shoulder as if to soothe any wounded pride. “He likes to joke, don’t you Hiroim?” The lackey smiled and proceeded to -ah. He wasn’t a servant. Well, a certain type of one if they were into that.

Loki coughed noisily before the two could get any more intimate and they separated after a few more moments. He was surprised to see both still had faces. “So, 142, what have you got for me this time?”

“A Frost Giant of Jötunheim. They are known for savagery and this one is particularly small; it is… _feisty_ to have survived so long.” She said, voice smooth and void of gruffness as she spoke - a sales pitch.

“Savagery is always quite _enjoyable_ , I’m sure you agree, Hiroim,” A low hum from the consort.

142’s lip curled, but smoothly became a smile. “I take eight million.”

The Grandmaster looked to his companion, who made a show of widening his eyes. Then he rolled his own, “You will need to reward me for this,” He sighed and pulled out a tablet from somewhere in his robes. A quick few taps and a bleep, then he looked up to 142. She smirked and tossed the little chrome control, which Hiroim caught.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” She started to saunter away, but turned mid-stride to call at Loki, “Good luck, snowflake!” Her voice was mocking, but he counted it as a win anyway - faux-friendship was better than open hostility.

However, before Loki could think of an appropriate response, the two remaining people were looking him over, nearly circling. The Grandmaster smiled and nodded to himself. “You’ll do well,” He said and Loki couldn’t tell if it was praise or mocking. “Hiroim, please, take our new esteemed friend on a tour! And some new clothes. _Accentuate_ those features!” Given his task, the consort nodded, kissed his master once more and led their new toy away. But before the two could exit, he spoke again. “Oh, and give him the orgy ship’s code. He’s a good candidate for our nurse party - those _fingers_!”

And finally they left.

  
  


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After what was probably hours, Loki had been led about and interrogated and shoved into questionable clothing by Hiroim. Eventually, he had been left alone in a room. He couldn’t tell if it was where he would be staying, or if it was just a cell to house him in until more permanent housing became available. No matter - any time by himself was precious and Loki didn’t intend to waste it.

He needed a plan. For escape, for murdering Scrapper 142 and for dealing with Hela if he ever got the chance. Escape first.

It didn’t take long to survey the cupboard he’d been left in. Walls and floor were made of metal which he could have probably broken through, but a spell showed him an alarm was set to go off if there was any structural damage. The ceiling was only wood and with no such devices, but the room above seemed to be a barracks of some sort. Loud, drunk laughing and the stench of sweat meant he hadn’t even needed to use his restricted seiðr for that. Which left the door.

As Loki began inspecting it, footsteps rang at the edge of his hearing and he froze. They were coming nearer but something was off. Despite how close they became, they weren’t loud enough. Loki shuffled back from the opening and the mystery solved itself. Door opened and a small creature appeared. It stared up at him, expression unreadable under a blank mask. When it eventually spoke, there was no small amount of derision in its voice. “You’re required in His Grand Eminence's pleasure room.”

“... _Right_.” Loki managed to choke out. Because whilst he had been trying to figure out how to escape, he had managed to forget that he had been bought by a rather lustful supreme leader. “I’ll go straight to that... room.”

“Also known as the chamber of never ending screams, the destroyer of-”

“I understand, thank you,” Loki interrupted with a grimace. He stepped past the little creature and wracked his brains, trying to remember if Hiroim had mentioned a room with rather overt innuendoes.

The creature huffed impatiently behind him. “There are signs. First one is that way.” It pointed and marched in the opposite direction once Loki had started walking. He glanced back only to see it disappearing around a corner quite some distance away.

Perhaps he would find an escape opportunity on the way, he hoped. Even if he didn’t yet have a route off of this damned planet, a way out of the Grandmaster’s skyscraper would be a start.

Despite how hard he tried, even when he pretended to be lost to explore further, there wasn’t an unguarded exit. The sentinels of these recognised him on sight and made a show of touching their weapons or just shifting their garments to show a pommel or pistol grip. Potentially, invisibility or an illusion could fool them, but Loki wasn’t going to test it, especially with Odin’s restrictions on his seiðr very much in place.

With that decided, Loki turned back to following the pictograph signs until he stood before an understated blue door, red streaks marbling its surface. He smoothed down the new too-tight shirt and knocked.

Almost as soon as knuckles struck the surface, it swung in smoothly, revealing a carpeted floor filled with furniture and towering racks of brightly coloured implements. In the midst of this chaos, the Grandmaster and Hiroim sat rather innocuously, playing cards. Although the door didn’t make a sound and Loki’s knock had been silent, somehow, the Grandmaster looked up at him, as if he knew exactly where he was without even thinking. Their eyes met and the being smiled and stood.

“Ah, you’re here!” Standing, it was easier to see what he was wearing - golden buckles and knee-high heeled boots and some other see-through garments Loki didn’t recognise. Hiroim’s outfit was even worse and he became painfully aware that he was the most clothed person present. Whilst not particularly unusual for him - Thor and the Stooges Three liked roaming about topless - it certainly was when the other people were wearing… _That_. “We were just wondering when you’d show up.” The Grandmaster stretched. “How do you feel on UNO foreplay?”

Loki shrugged, unable to speak, his mind working furiously to process what _exactly_ he had gotten himself into.

This was _bad_.

It wasn’t some sort of strange joke. He really had been sold and was, essentially, a bed slave. That was a first. But. He had to focus.

Main goal was escape. Find his way back to Asgard. By any means necessary. And, distasteful as it was, this wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before in dire circumstances.

The Grandmaster was still talking. “-f you’re _especially_ good, you can even last a few years! C’mon, things aren’t too bad, Luke. It’s Luke, right?”

Loki blinked. “Yeah,” He said, only just managing to keep his voice calm-ish and void of intellect. “So, if I’m good I get let go?”

A laugh from Hiroim. “No. You’re a slut, not a gladiator!” By his side, the Grandmaster hummed and glanced up at his taller companion. “If you’re a _good boy_ , maybe you get my job.”

“Oh, you’re so _nasty_ , aren’t you Hiroim?” The man purred, grinning in a way that was vaguely terrifying. Like the rest of him, Loki was coming to realise. He turned his piercing eyes on their newest captive. “Now then! I’ve had a stressful day and you’re going to help me _unwind_.”

And the consort was in front of Loki far too quickly. Up close, he towered over him, taller than even Thor. His bare chest was grossly muscular and his skin a grey-brown which bore trailing scars. Without clothes on, he could see that his left arm ended just above his elbow and a prosthetic wrapped about the stump. It was gold and silver, with engraving continuing the slender scars along his arm, culminating in a knot of writhing creatures at his wrist. Inlays and artistic talent aside, there was a nearly crude, violent functionality to it, with bare pistons and wires.

A strong grip on Loki’s chin broke him from his thoughts. His face was tilted upward and he didn’t resist despite how he longed to.

Was this worth it?

He didn’t want to, but that hadn’t stopped him whenever such actions had been necessary previously. But this felt different - he was rawer. And even as Hiroim’s chiseled features closed in, an Æsir face appeared in his mind’s eye.

It wasn’t Sakaar, but his cell beneath Asgard. Bile was in his mouth.

Strong nose, bushy eyebrows and brown eyes. Nothing else visible for the bright light piercing his retinas. Lips, nose, chin, were flaming hot. As if his skin was melting away from the Æsir’s touch.

Honey hair chased the face away. Royal robes blocked out the cell.

**My sweet boy…**

The real world seeped in. Hiroim’s tongue down his throat and he couldn’t breathe and he could hear someone enjoying the show.

**My sweet,** **_sweet_ ** **boy. Resist them. Do not let this happen!**

Loki felt those hands, one living and one cool metal, roaming. He couldn’t fight back - he would die! And if he died, he wouldn’t know what Hela had done, was doing, if Thor was dea-

**_Trust me._ **

He pulled away from the kiss and stepped back, chest heaving. “No.” He managed to say, then repeated it, louder.

“You’re into non-con?” The Grandmaster said, brows raised. “142 really _is_ the best. And you would’ve called her such an awful word, Hiroim!” He stood and began searching. “We have some stuff for that around here somewhere…”

Loki stared at him for a second and felt his chest tighten. He could barely breathe. If they managed to restrain him, it’d be over. Escape wasn’t an option - even if he made it out of this room, he hadn’t a way out of the skyscraper. He’d be captured and killed, or kept and… Didn’t want to think about that; he wouldn’t let it happen.

Before a pair of cuffs or rope could be procured, Loki pulled on his seiðr, pooled the power in his fists, and felt it sparking. Held up his hand, uncurled his fingers and splayed his palm on Hiroim’s bare chest.

Nothing happened.

It fizzled away, like water in a sieve.

A few seconds, and then pressure on his neck. Someone must have placed a noose about it, hung him from the ceiling. But his feet were still firmly on the ground.

Loki gagged, hands came up to clutch at nothing and he lost control of his seiðr, felt it fade away to nothing. It took a moment, but he could breathe again.

Black spots faded from his vision to reveal Hiroim staring, confused, down at him. The bootlicker didn’t seem to understand, which gave him an advantage, even if his magic seemed to be completely locked away now.

Without hesitation, Loki launched forwards and lodged his bony shoulder in the taller creature’s stomach. It was densely muscled, but Hiroim let out a surprised grunt and fell, caught himself on the edge of a table.

Somewhere, the Grandmaster said something, but there was a fist flying towards him, gold and silver. Loki shifted to the side. He stood above his opponent, the limb was at stomach height, elbow pointed toward him. If it wasn’t metal, he would’ve broken it.

Instead, Loki jumped back and took stock of his surroundings.

Table and Hiroim before him. To the left, a rack with whips and guns and knives. Behind, just the door and a blank wall. Right of him, poles and platforms.

Knives and guns. He could use those. And, judging from the borderline psychopathy of everyone on this planet, the knives would be sharp and guns loaded.

Hiroim had regained his feet. Teeth bared, brow furrowed and ponytail messy, he was a sight, with stray hairs jaggedly twisting in every puff of air.

A breath, two, and the giant man was charging.

Both hands outstretched, grasping. Loki swayed to the left, curled his arm back and jabbed forward, whole body twisting, to punch him in his bare side. Beneath his knuckles, the brittle cracking of ribs, but Hiroim didn’t make a sound. He twisted, wrapped his arm about his attacker. Held him above the floor, legs kicking and a shocked yelp.

Around him, the limb bunched, ready to fling him across the room, away from the door and weapons. Loki thrashed desperately, but to no use.

Then nothing about him but rushing air. He reached up, blindly and grasped onto a wrist, wrapped his hand over it with all the strength he had, felt bones grinding together, cracking. The momentum Hiroim had given him now worked in his favour, and Loki swung with it, came around, feet extended and knees bent for impact. He collided with the same side he had punched, felt more ribs give way and released Hiroim’s crushed wrist, kicked off. For his hard work, the giant man fell backwards, slid and came to a stop against the poles rising from the floor, cold metal digging into his neck, back, legs.

Loki grinned to himself where he lay. Flipped onto his front, tried to push himself upright. But the moment he attempted to move his right arm, the one he had swung on, screaming pain shocked through him and he collapsed back onto his front.

Breathing started to become harder, but he pushed the constricted feeling away. He sat up, glanced over at Hiroim warily, saw him only just starting to stir, fingers twitching.

Next to figure out what was wrong. He had half a minute, maximum, to find the problem and fix it - fighting with one arm was possible, but he didn’t want to risk it.

Loki ran his eyes over his arm and shoulder, and he felt somewhat thankful for that ridiculously tight shirt he’d been forced to wear. Because with it hugging his skin, the dislocation was easy to see. His shoulder was an odd shape, square instead of more rounded and his collarbone stuck out even more than usual.

Painful, but easy to fix.

Another glance at Hiroim. He was sat up, eyes foggy but with a thunderous expression. Ten seconds at most until he had to be upright and fully functional.

Loki gritted his teeth and grabbed his right wrist, dragged in a breath, exhaled and pulled it forward, felt the joint screaming and bones grind together.

Footsteps running at him.

He rolled to the side, shoved himself upright and this time, thought it hurt, he could move his arm and it didn’t collapse beneath him.

But he was on his feet for half a second when what felt like a brick lodged itself in his chest.

Loki was sent flying, tumbling, unable to tell up from down. It lasted barely a moment, but felt far longer. And he landed, body splayed and upside down against a harsh, unforgiving surface. Something was stuck in his leg, to the hilt - a knife.

It hadn’t pierced far, lodged in his thigh bone.

His head was resting on the floor, but his neck bore weight from the rest of his body, which was tangled with the weapons rack. He could just about see Hiroim walking towards him, scowl fixed firmly in place. It looked like he lumbered about on the ceiling and Loki blinked at the sight, thoughts muddled from the blow.

But then he was suddenly close, too close. A great hand reached down, grabbed him, turned him upright and held him up. He turned to look somewhere, as if in reply to... Someone. Loki knew who it was, but the knowledge felt locked away in fog.

Either way, it was mildly insulting to be ignored by his opponent. So, driven more by spite than anything else, he reached down, ripped the blade from his thigh and shoved it deep into the base of Hiroim’s throat, between his clavicles.

Blood, surprisingly normal-looking for an alien, spurted from around the knife’s hilt. It hit Loki in the face, neck and stained his clothes. He grinned and some entered his mouth, tasted rotten, and was promptly spat on Hiroim’s face.

He was released and dropped to the floor, stumbled but remained upright. Pulled in deep lungfuls of air, pushed away the fog of battle and promptly turned his attention to the Grandmaster.

Loki stepped away from his opponent, to avoid the falling body, gurgling and desperately clutching at his neck. Looked about the room and his eyes fell on him.

The Grandmaster’s brows were raised and a smile was on his lips. “Now _that_ was entertaining!” He exclaimed. “You want to have a job, doing that? A lot. Everyday! What you said before, about being let go, that’s a possibility!”

He had been expecting more of a… surprised, shocked and outraged reaction. But, he wasn’t going to question it if he was given an avenue for escape. Even if it hinged on how absolutely _insane_ this world’s dictator was. “Yes,” Loki said.

Across from him, the Grandmaster’s face lit up and he procured a tablet from somewhere, typed furiously and then spoke again. “Right! Topaz will be here in a bit. You sure you don’t want to be one of my courtesans?”

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” Loki didn’t need to think about that one. Behind him, Hiroim gurgled, gasped and lay still.

The Grandmaster sighed. “Not even if I offer you his old job? Comes with a nice suite, _great_ view.”

“I- Thank you, but no.”

“Your loss.”

Awkward silence. Loki looked over his shoulder and watched as a damp, rust coloured stain spread out from Hiroim’s inert body. Which reminded him of his own wounds. He tested his arm, but only felt a twinge of pain. And then his torso, ribs cracked, but he could move without blacking out, which left his thigh. Loki found a table, sat on it and ripped at the lycra until he could see the jagged slit in his skin.

The blood which seeped from it was cool and purple, and the illusion had been damaged in the surrounding area. Without access to his magic, he couldn’t repair it, but Loki found himself only somewhat bothered by it. After spending a year in his cell since being captured on Midgard… There were worse things to be terrified or angry or disgusted about. Having few small patches showing through wasn’t pleasant, but he had survived for months completely unhidden beneath Asgard - he could manage this.

Maybe he wouldn’t be able to stand it in a while, but, at that moment, with his limbs starting to feel heavy from exhaustion, Loki didn’t mind.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Kudos warm my heart, comments make my fingers type faster! Thankfully, I've managed to write up chap. 7, so I can post this and keep my buffer chapters :D
> 
> Thanks for reading and good luck in your search for good fic!
> 
> ~Ommallaredpanda.


	3. Dokkalf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who is leery of having OCs in stories, I'm the exact same and I'd like to say that this is Loki-centric and gen. All OCs have been created specifically for the purposes of plot-related shenanigans and the story is still going to be focused around our favourite stabby boi, Asgard and his family.
> 
> I hope they don't turn you off the story, because I wouldn't add them if they weren't necessary. Falling back on canon characters doesn't sit well with me and Sakaar was explored very little and whatever there was was a joke. So! OCs.
> 
> No trigger warnings for this chapter :) Lokes deserves a bit of a break.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Before Loki could be lulled to sleep by how comfy the carpet looked, he was led from the room by a woman - presumably Topaz.

He tried to remain awake and attentive, but she wasn’t talking and everything looked the same... 

The last few halls were a blur, and then there was an open door before him and he collapsed inside, sleep immediately overtaking him.

Beneath him, the floor was hard and cool. He didn’t dream, too tired, though there was little rest to be had. People talked but he didn’t listen, ignored the voices and sank deeper into slumber. Whispers, he turned away from them, onto his side and curled up, dead to the world.

Hours later and Loki’s eyes slowly cracked open.

Talking and the first thing he saw was a green face, with brown eyes staring soulfully down at him. “The new one is awake!” It spoke, the pink of its mouth flashing.

Movement at the edges of his vision and Loki blinked, rubbed his eyes. Once they were open again, another face appeared. Well, mask. A familiar mask.

“You’re the small creature!” He exclaimed. It simply stared down at him with the same unfathomable gaze.

A hand, large and green, was shoved in his face. Loki eyed it, but tentatively grasped it and was pulled to his feet.

He had been left in a corridor of some kind, graffiti sprayed everywhere and one wall displayed an impressive block of tallies. The two creatures with him were on opposite spectrums of size. One reached Loki’s waist and the other was barely a half-inch shorter than him, not counting the wavy hair piled atop its shaved-sides head. It reminded him somewhat of the Hulk, but with major differences - scars and a warm, if brainless, smile.

“Who are you?” Loki backed away from the odd pair, but didn’t feel too alarmed. He had evidently been asleep in their presence. If they wished him dead, he would be.

“I am an Assimilator of the Great Behemoth.” The large creature said and sat down with a thump. “We won’t hurt you. You’re ours now.”

“He means ‘we’ as in ‘me’.” The short one butted in. Its face was covered completely by a round white mask, with a slit at eye height and a shorter one at its mouth.

The ‘Assimilator’’s smile turned into a confused frown and it looked down. “I am multiple. There is no ‘me’...”

Loki raised an eyebrow. From what he could remember through a tired haze, he had been offered a different position, better than being the Grandmaster’s prostitute. “You are gladiators?”

“Essentially,” Short creature said and then sighed at Loki’s questioning look. “We fight in the ring, team or solo matches. If you win, you get food and a rest. Lose, and either death or they activate the ‘obedience disk’. That circular device on your temple.” It decided whatever obligation to inform him was fulfilled and walked a way along the corridor, sat down and seemed to go straight to sleep. Evidently time was valuable.

Instead of following the little creature’s example, Loki set off along the hallway. It wouldn’t go anywhere - a loop or dead end, he suspected - but walking helped him think. And he didn’t want to strike up a conversation with the Hulk-like being.

No seiðr. The thought bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest. It set bands of iron about his lungs, squeezing, until Loki felt for the innate power and it sent a comforting rush through him. He couldn’t use it, but it was still _there_. Though he couldn’t think of why it slipped through his mental fingers whenever he tried to use it. Stubbornly, Loki attempted to shape it into a simple illusion - a small snake, weaving about his fingers, but nothing happened. Even with Odin’s restrictions, such harmless, powerless magic should have been alright! Had something happened?

**I fear for you, my son…**

Loki spun wildly and an impression of Frigga laughed, her outline smiling and gentle, printed on the blank white wall. “You’re my imagination.” He blurted out.

**If that is what you wish to believe, I will not stop you.**

It was like someone writing directly onto the fabric of his mind in her flowing cursive. He blinked, and she was still there, an afterimage everywhere he looked. “Why? Why are you here? _How_ are you here?”

**Because you need me and Asgard needs you.**

“ _Asgard_?!” He almost yelled it, but managed to keep his voice down - the two gladiators seeing him rage at a wall wasn’t a situation he wanted to be in.

**Yes.**

Loki scoffed. “The Realm Eternal will be doing fine without me.” Then he held up a hand, pooled seiðr there and felt it drain away. “I’m useless without my magic, anyway.”

**You still have it. My husband’s reach only truly encompasses the Æsir.**

“ _Odin_ did this?” But no reply came, merely a bittersweet smile. She had left him once more, with far more questions than answers.

But it made sense. He had grown up delving into libraries, and some books held rumours of how far the All-Father’s power over Asgardian magic spread. Some authors claimed that the King could limit someone’s connection to Yggradsil, the source of magic itself… If what he read hadn’t just been conspiracy theories, it was possible Odin had severed his connection to the World Tree itself, making Æsir magic inaccessible to him. Other than his innate energy (some scholars dubbed ‘life force’), which could only be wielded sporadically, at great risk and through instinctive reaction.

Loki felt like punching a wall.

He had been severed from the World Tree before, but he had had Thor to protect him whilst he rectified whatever had gone wrong. He still knew how to work the eddies of energy about him, but once he tried to release it, Ysggradsil seemed to refute him, bowing to her conqueror’s whims.

Something felt off. Loki turned back to walking. What Frigga (or his imagination) had said; ‘You still have it,’ Odin’s ‘reach only truly encompasses the Æsir’...

The All-Father had dominion over all _Asgardian_ magic, as well as limited power of other Realms’ since the Great Conquest.

Loki wasn’t Æsir. He used their magic and, knowing what he now did, it was a miracle that he had managed to master the seiðr of a foreign Realm at all. But the Jötnar had always been strange, especially when it came to magic.

Without the Casket of Ancient Winters, they should not have been able to so much as summon ice - the artifact was what bound their Realm’s seiðr to Ysggradsil. Regardless, they did. Scholars had studied the phenomenon to no avail.

He could almost see Frigga’s eyes twinkling as he realised what she had been trying to say.

Loki wasn’t Æsir. Therefore, Odin couldn’t completely bar him from Jötunn magic. He stopped walking and stared into the distance. It was so _obvious_.

He held up his palm before him, studied the scar he had etched into it. Simple runes which bound his appearance to pale-skinned and green-eyed. Beneath the illusion, he was still cold and blue and alien; if he _did_ need to use his heritage, it shouldn’t be a barrier. Based on his knowledge of _Asgardian_ magic - the fundamental rules could be completely different and his assumptions completely wrong. Loki sighed and brought the hand to his mouth unthinkingly and began to gnaw at his knuckle.

At least he now had a second back-up in case knives weren’t enough. Instinctive, uncontrollable and dangerous innate seiðr coupled with foreign ice magic he had only encountered on the opposite side of a battlefield.

Perhaps he could attempt to practice it? But just thinking that - an image of ice, black and cloying, stretching over his mouth and nose, unbreakable as his very bones froze. It was irrational, and he pushed the cold apprehension away, but couldn’t bring himself to try.

Loki stood stock still, thinking of nothing and doing even less, until his teeth broke the skin of his knuckle and cold, salty blood entered his mouth. He jerked back, confused and stared as the tiny graze disappeared in seconds. It was odd, to fall back on such an old habit in this unfamiliar place, yet it still made him smile. Memories of Frigga and Thor scolding him for it, even as whatever damage he had done healed in mere moments. His brother had always been jealous of it - Loki had been easier to hurt, but quicker to mend.

Where the skin had split there was now a small patch of blue, smaller than his thumbnail, but still noticeable. Without his magic, any damage to the illusion would remain. If he did nothing, Loki would eventually become a patchwork of white and cerulean. Like a two-legged Jötunn cow. The mental image made him smile, and he hid it beneath his hand.

Mood somewhat lighter, Loki continued walking until the two other inmates faded into view. If what the small one had said was to be believed, they would probably have to fight together at some point. Therefore, knowing their names and winning their trust would go a long way towards elongating Loki’s own life, especially with his magic impaired as it was.

The masked creature appeared to be soundly asleep, slumped against the wall and head leant against its shoulder. However, the larger green one - the self-proclaimed ‘Assimilator’ - was awake. Loki studied it for a second. Shaved head with a nest of loose curls atop it, deep black fading to a light pink at the tips. Its face was broad and square, but with contrastingly circular eyes which, coupled with its gentle smile, lent the creature a soft look. Even with the multitude of scars wrapped about its body, Loki doubted it was a very violent individual. Nor, from the vacant expression, intelligent.

He walked over to it and coughed when the blank stare didn’t change. Eventually, brown eyes turned to look up at him and the smile widened. “You are feeling better now?”

“I… Yes,” Loki clamped his mouth shut to prevent stuttering. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but genuine concern hadn’t been it. “I didn’t catch your name?” He said quickly.

It shrugged, great shoulders rolling like hills. “We do not have one.”

Loki raised an eyebrow and sat next to the creature, careful to keep space between them, but otherwise relaxed. “We?” He turned his mind away from the problem of Asgard and Thor and magic, a constant hum of thought, focused instead on this far more simple problem. “You are part of a colony?”

“Not anymore,” Their face fell and knees drew in. “We- _I_ was abandoned here, by myself.”

Some sort of hive mind, he guessed from the morose expression. Before they had named themself an ‘Assimilator’. “You were left here to recruit this planet,” He realised. “For… This ‘Great Behemoth’ you mentioned. That is your hive, your name?” It was not one he had heard of before, but he hadn’t heard of Sakaar, either.

“Yes…” They shrugged again. “Did your collective leave you here, too?”

Loki snorted. “No. They don’t even know this galaxy exists.” He dismissed the encroaching thoughts of Asgard. At least he now had something to call the creature, though it was ridiculously long-winded. Next to ascertain how far he could rely on his new teammate’s capabilities. A straight-forward approach would be best. “Are you a skilled fighter?”

The Behemoth glanced over at Loki, then gestured to their scarred body. “No, but the others find it hard to kill me. You?”

“I can take care of myself.” They nodded their great head, no questions asked. It was refreshing, to have someone take him at his word, instead of the usual jeering he would have received from Asgard’s warriors. Loki bit back a smile.

They sat in silence for some time, and the creature dropped into sleep rather quickly, their throat bared as they rested against the wall. Evidently, the two were exhausted. If what the small one had said was correct, it was probably from fighting. In the hours Loki had slept, they may have been called to the ring.

Fully rested and with nothing else to do, Loki set his mind to thinking, any questions or theories which could help him.

It was something he had done throughout his childhood, and out of it, too. If he needed to sleep, he would let his mind wander until the theoretical math and politics had lulled him. If Thor’s idiocy had gotten them trapped or readying for bloodshed, he would think of tactics and battle magics until his mind was calm.

He didn’t yet know the dangers he needed to protect himself from, and so Loki’s thoughts ran everywhere, from plotting Scrapper 142’s painful death to predicting how Hela would lay siege to Asgard. No matter how he turned the problems, it was an ultimately fruitless exercise, except that he slipped into a light trance and time passed quicker for it.

  
  


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Perhaps an hour had slipped by and it was peaceful.

The masked creature began to snore after a few minutes; soft and deep and the repetitive noise was strangely calming.

But the relative quiet was broken by the door swishing open, with a brutish, armoured being behind it. As if they were trained dogs, the Behemoth and small one stood automatically, sleep completely shaken off. Loki rose with them, after a moment of deliberation.

The three filed out and the door shut behind them, but this didn’t seem unusual. Before them, the new creature was completely hidden beneath its armour, even to Loki’s studious gaze. They marched along after it, through a maze of similar hallways, but with barely anyone else in sight, other than occasional parades like theirs.

After walking for maybe five minutes, they arrived in a room brimming with all kinds of individuals, of every race imaginable, most of which Loki had never seen before. Some were familiar - Dokkalfar and Vanir. He wondered how they had arrived on Sakaar.

But it wasn’t the diverse population they had been brought there for, it was the weapons.

Blades, whips, hammers, guns… Some of them, Loki couldn’t fathom the use for, even with his many years of experience. Thor would have loved it, he couldn’t help but think. Sif, too.

Behemoth didn’t hesitate, and was delving into the bustling room even as Loki’s mind whirred over the _why_ of whatever this was. He glanced down, around, to find that the shorter one had already slipped away without notice, ridiculously fast as it was, and Loki quickly hurried after Behemoth. Being alone in this room of unfamiliar warriors probably wasn’t a good idea.

He trailed them, their bulk parting the dense crowd, allowing him to slip along behind until the two reached a weapon rack. Behemoth trailed a large hand over the selection of shields, until their fingers rested on an unfamiliar version of the standard bulwark. It had two handles and, as they hefted it, Loki saw that the front had a deep, circular depression in the centre. White light shone from between the sparse hairline fractures on its surface and power radiated from it. Something told him that others would like to wield it, but didn’t have the strength.

Behemoth ran their hands over the augmented shield and hummed approval, then looked to Loki. “You should not worry. We are here only to pick our weapons.”

He blinked, then smoothed his face automatically. “I am not worried.”

They cocked their head, but shrugged. “Maybe that’s not the right word for it. We will be led to the food hall soon. Do you want our help to find a weapon?”

Loki opened his mouth to refuse the large creature, but didn’t. There was none of the usual mocking in Behemoth’s voice, nor in their large eyes. “... Yes.” He said, after a few more seconds of hesitation.

“What do you fight with?” They asked, as if there was nothing unusual about the long pause.

“Knives, staves, swords, bows, guns…”

Behemoth held the shield at their side and began to wade through the crowd once again and Loki tagged along behind. “Knives are this way.”

True to their word, the two soon arrived at a rack entirely devoted to daggers of all kinds. None were of particularly good make, but they would do. He quickly began collecting what he would need - all the throwing knives, which totalled at only six, a set of identical daggers and a wide hunting knife. Unfortunately, Loki was still wearing the clothing Hiroim had forced him into, which didn’t have space for any weapons, let alone the small armoury he had selected.

Behemoth smiled again. “There is armour here, too.”

“... That would be helpful,” Loki replied, struggling with the small mountain of sharp objects in his hands. Behemoth held out one of their own, easily twice the size of Loki’s. After a moment, he carefully placed the knives on their large palm. One or two fell forcefully enough to cut skin, but didn’t.

He was led to a table, pushed up against a wall and chose some at random. Leather tunic and pants, then metal shin guards and gauntlets. He turned away, satisfied with his choice, but saw a flash of colour in the corner of his eye. A red streak of cloth, bright against the worn armour. It was a small half cape, tattered at the edges and grimy, yet he was drawn to it. He reached out to grab it, hesitated, but then picked it up anyway. Thor wasn’t here - red wasn’t his colour, not here. He silenced the little voice in the back of his head which wanted to hold onto the red, wanted to ride with it into battle, only for its connection to his far-away brother.

More suitable clothing in his arms, Loki glanced about but was greeted with a few half-clothed figures instead of changing rooms. He sighed, turned away from the crowd and stripped.

It didn’t take long to dress himself - the buckles were far less fiddly than his ceremonial armour, last worn on Thor’s coronation. Despite how second-hand and worn it was, it fit surprisingly well. Loki picked up the small pile of flimsy cloth and dumped it on the armour table, smirked. He hoped no one was inexperienced enough to wear _that_ for battle, but, if they did, it would be rather entertaining.

Behemoth ran an eye over the armour and nodded in approval. It felt somewhat condescending but, before he could snap at them, someone had him by the shoulder. Loki froze, but then spun around, slapped the hand away.

Before him was a Dokkalf, its traditional white mask cracked and one of its ears was missing. Apart from the head gear, there was nothing similar between this one and the regiment he had faced on Svartalfheim. The armour, whilst broken and patched together, was far too old - from mythical texts which predated Asgard’s rise to power.

Loki stared. Such ancient artifacts should have been reduced to dust, no matter that a living, breathing _dark elf_ wore it. Unless this wasn’t the being which brought the armour to Sakaar, which he doubted, it was at _least_ a few million years old. Not to mention that, apart from whatever remained of Malekith’s small band, the Dokkalfar were supposed to be extinct.

“Thou art of Ásgarðr.” It stated, voice deep. The All-Speak struggled to translate, only managing to convert it to broken Old Norse.

“How are you alive?” Loki managed to breathe past the boulder which had taken up residence in his throat.

But before the creature could reply, Behemoth stepped between them and, despite how they were shorter than both Loki and the Dokkalf, there was something solid and immovable about them. He wanted to shove the dim-witted creature away, but restrained himself. “Old one, the colour-changer is new here, he is protected.” They said, deference in their voice but also steel.

The Dokkalf glowered behind its mask, but seemed to be appeased and turned away with a huff.

Loki stared as it retreated into the milling crowd. Once he could no longer see it, he let his muscles relax and puffed out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Because, if he had his ancient history (more like mythology) correct, that Dokkalf had probably killed many Æsir and adding a Prince of Asgard to that pile of bodies was something it wouldn’t hesitate to do.

Behemoth looked to him and held out their hand, blades still in a tidy little pile at the centre of their palm. Loki let out another shuddering breath, but nodded a silent ‘thank you’ and began strapping them onto him. “How old is that da- gladiator?” He asked as he worked.

“He has been here longer than we have. Others say a year.”

Loki paused. “A _year_?!”

That wasn’t possible, surely?

But it made sense. If time on Sakaar moved differently than for the Nine Realms… The Dokkalf must have found its way here and remained trapped even as the rest of its kind was exterminated by Bor. And why Thor hadn’t yet appeared, though Loki thought he had fallen from the Bifröst seconds after he did. Perhaps even why Odin had cut him from his magic at such a seemingly random time - perhaps it was when Hela had arrived on Asgard. The All-Father would have assumed the Jötunn pretender had tricked them all, allowing the Goddess of Death to their doorstep... And his magic? Punishment for this perceived deception.

Despite how his thoughts concentrated on the bad, Loki forced himself to recognise that this meant he had _time_. And lots of it. Every few days on Sakaar would be only mere moments to Asgard. Thor may still be alive, struggling with Hela on the Rainbow Bridge, or tumbling through space until one of Sakaar’s portals sucked him in. Or perhaps it would be a corpse that crashed down into the massive piles of waste, there was no way of knowing.

Behemoth was still watching him, quiet, as he processed the new information. “You said I am protected? Why?”

“It is what is done here. Before your first entry into the ring, you are not to be hurt.” They shrugged. Loki half-expected them to question why the Dokkalf had been so interested in him, but wasn’t too surprised when they didn’t. It was refreshing to be in such relaxed company.

Instead, they asked something far more harmless; “You can understand him? The old one.”

“Yes.” He wasn’t pressed to continue, but did anyway. “I have a… a universal translator which is built into me. It lets me understand what others say and the opposite way around.” Behemoth nodded slowly, their eyes confused as they puzzled over what he had said.

But before the ensuing silence could become awkward, the small creature had reappeared. It now held a spear and had a rifle the size of its torso slung across its back. “If you two are finished annoying the most experienced gladiator here, we need to go to the mess.” It said, voice scathing.

Loki scowled, glanced at Behemoth. “Is it usually so bossy?” He remarked.

“She. Not _it_ ,” Her body stiffened. “Now follow me, unless you want to go back to being the Grandmaster’s whore? You fags never last lon-”

He didn’t know what he was doing until his hand was squeezing the creature’s throat and its pathetic little legs were kicking at him and he could feel its spine in his hand. It would be so easy to just crush it. There was barely any resistance and he could end it devastatingly quickly...

Before his eyes, small ice crystals were forming over his hand in little clusters, spreading onto his target. At the same moment, he became aware of large, green hands gripping his arms with what felt like barely any force behind them. But, as he came back to himself and the ice melted away, it increased what felt like a thousand fold, until his bones were being crushed beneath those hands and he cried out involuntarily. His fist relaxed about the small creature’s throat and, after a moment, the vice about his arms slowly released him.

She was sprawled on the floor, coughing and Behemoth was somehow now in front of Loki, staring into his eyes warily. “We say sorry for our friend, strong one,” They said once his eyes cleared.

“Luke. I’m Luke,” Loki said. It felt wrong to lie to them, but he wasn’t going to risk that anyone here recognised his name.

“We say sorry for our friend, Luke. Do not kill her.” Their voice was clear and even and there wasn’t even a hint of reproach.

He hesitated for a moment. But then he said; “I won’t.”

Behemoth nodded and relaxed again. About them, the crowd continued on - they hadn’t even stopped to watch the spectacle. The small woman stood from where she had fallen and glared up at Loki, rubbed her neck once more and snatched her spear up from the floor.

“I’m not a _thing_ ,” She said forcefully, but didn’t elaborate on it and turned to Behemoth. “Let’s go.” And the two began walking, with Loki following after a moment.

  
  


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Loki tried to pay attention to the winding route they took to the mess hall and the multitude of faces he passed, but couldn’t.

He had nearly killed that little creature, but no one had so much as blinked in his direction. Behemoth had taken him _at his word_ that he wouldn’t try again and the woman herself had turned her back to him within a minute of being released.

It was dawning on him that death and brawls and attempted murder must be quite commonplace for a gladiator.

But then there was no more time to think; they had reached their destination.

If he had thought the weapon room crowded, it had nothing on the mess hall. Though it was certainly larger, every square inch was packed with beings, bristling with weapons and armour. Even from the entrance, he could see a multitude of fights breaking out and ending. Cameras were bolted to the ceiling - at least, that’s what he thought they were. Evidently, even while they weren’t in the ring, they would be providing entertainment.

Loki followed Behemoth into the fray as he studied the room. It was rather simple; a large, blank-walled box. Graffiti was everywhere in the forms of dried-on food yet to be cleaned and scratches in the metal. Tables filled the area, one on each side created a walkway between the two rows. At the end of the hall, pushed against the back wall, was a chrome-coloured bench with sour-faced beings behind it, ladling out slop.

Soon, they arrived there and held out burning hot plates for a grey-green chunky liquid to be sloshed onto it. Loki found them a seat and set down his meal quickly and shook his hands in an attempt to cool them. The small woman glanced at him, but wisely didn’t say anything when he glowered at her.

Behemoth, however, didn’t seem to have a brain in their massive head. “We didn’t know the plates were that hot…” They said, confused.

“So your skin is even thicker than your skull?” Loki snarled, folding his hands away. His nerves were frayed and he couldn’t contain the sharp words which welled up in his chest.

The small woman snorted behind her mask. “You are _very_ touchy, aren’t you?” Derision dripped from her voice and he was entertaining the thought of throttling her again, but she turned to Behemoth and resumed talking. “Remember that he was blue? He’s from a cold climate, so hot temperatures will hurt him.”

She continued speaking, but he didn’t hear her.

He already knew what she was saying, but it wasn’t that which froze him to the core. It was that an utter stranger knew these simple facts which he hadn’t known for the entirety of his life. Loki felt the old confusion and hurt and horror beginning to rise, but he couldn’t afford it in this situation, and forced it back down. It had taken a year of being trapped under Asgard, after being captured on Midgard, to craft the box in which he stored all of his pain and hatred at his birth. But, after the second, far harsher, imprisonment, it was cracking open.

Burning pain from his hands brought Loki back to the present, away from the twisted parody of Pandora’s Box hidden away in a deep corner of his mind.

He brought them to view and watched as the burns slowly disappeared, leaving his palms with a dash of cerulean. They curled up into fists automatically and a flood of shame suddenly swept over Loki (not for what he saw through the breaking illusion, he convinced himself).

As he ate, his two teammates talked little, but, when they did, it was mostly strategy and speculation on who they would be fighting. If the next bout was to be a team fight or solo, if they thought they could stand a chance against something called the ‘Champion’, if the next match would be to the death or not…

Before Loki could clamp his treacherous mouth shut, it blurted something out; “Can you be freed?”

They stilled, and he listened for Behemoth expectantly, but it was the woman who spoke. “Yes. Why?”

Loki scoffed before he could help himself. “Why would I want to be free?”

“Yes.” She said again, and something about the set of her shoulders told him this was important.

“Because…” A lie would probably do well - something about slavery, from how she had reacted before, would provoke a feeling of kinship and forgiveness, perhaps even loyalty. Yet he wanted to tell the truth. Not particularly to her, but to _somebody_. A dam he didn’t realise he had built broke. “My brother is in trouble. Or was. I- I don’t know what happened, other than that I let something _awful_ into my Re- planet.” He looked up to gaze into that blank visor, and felt his impassive mask cracking a little at the edges. “He hates me and doesn’t trust me and the same is true for my people. But I _need_ to know what happened. And if it isn’t too late…” He didn’t know what he would do. He couldn’t say any more, the words seemed to have dried up in his throat.

But he didn’t need to. Her shoulders had softened and her head was cocked as she studied his expression, which immediately smoothed back to inscrutable, opposed to… Whatever she had been able to see on his face. “If you defeat the Champion, you are freed. There is no other way that I know of. Escape is impossible, and enough have tried and died to prove it.” She considered him for a few seconds more, then spoke again. “My name is Hon Dör. Don’t attempt to kill me again.”

“I will try.” He said and she seemed to accept it. Loki let his lips twitch up into a small smile. “You were discussing tactics?”

Behemoth spoke up. “Yes we think that there is going to be a team match soon.”

“If you have any game-changing abilities, let us know now,” Hon Dör said.

Loki hummed. “Unless turning the ring into an ice rink would be helpful, then no.”

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are the Red Bull equivalent for my plot bunny and just as adictive :3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Arena

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


The conversation was surprisingly pleasant, despite how they were all complete strangers. Hon Dör had been on Sakaar the longest of them, which was only a couple of months and Behemoth had arrived a few weeks ago. Due to being one of the ‘well behaved’ gladiators, she was often charged with menial tasks, such as delivering messages, like she had with Loki not too long ago. She offered a singular piece of advice for surviving; keep your head down, which made him huff humorlessly. He had failed that quite spectacularly already, without even trying.

But, before too long, the large armoured guard was back. It beckoned them and, this time, his new companions looked hesitant. Loki was the first to stand, and the other two followed his lead.

They were led through maze-like corridors and the only others which passed them were travelling in the opposite direction, wounded, drawn and tired-looking. It wasn’t too hard to guess they were on their way to the ring.

Soon, the creature leading them stopped before a door and keyed it open. From what little he could see, it looked to be a waiting area - white walls, one with a bench pushed against it. Behemoth was the first in, then Hon Dör, then Loki. The door closed behind them with an ominous click.

They stood in silence for a moment, then the two others sat on the bench, leaving the newest gladiator standing, resisting the urge to pace. But then he reminded himself of their irrelevance and started walking back and forth in the tiny space.

“You’re going to give me a headache like that,” Hon Dör snapped. She had the rifle in her lap and was fiddling with it - or perhaps cleaning it. “Calm down.”

Loki laughed, but it was far too sharp to be friendly. “I have lived longer and fought more battles than you can even _imagine_.”

Behemoth butted in. “Then you know it is smart to be scared before a fight.” They said, voice calm as they sat, stock still in comparison to them.

“I am not _scared_ ,” He snarled from between his teeth. His hold on his temper was slipping and these idiots were grating on his frayed nerves. Loki pulled in a deep breath and turned away from them when Behemoth didn’t reply.

Hon Dör was right, though. He needed to calm down.

Loki ran his hands over his clothing, checking the unfamiliar straps and buckles. It was a little jarring, to be wearing new armour, but it was surprisingly similar which relieved some of the pressure building up in his chest.

His vambraces were smooth metal, a bit mismatched, but they fit his forearms snugly and didn’t impede movement in his hands or wrists. Beneath them, the thin leather sleeves saved him from chafing. The tunic he had chosen was worn, but that provided the necessary give to not impede his movement. It wouldn’t offer much protection, but Loki had always relied on his agility in fights - if he was maneuverable, he wouldn’t need heavy armour.

The belt had a pouch in which he had stored the six throwing knives. Sheathes for the identical daggers had been clipped to the belt at his hips and the large hunting knife was strapped to his right shoulder, hiding the point where his cape was attached. He had been berating himself for the sentimental decision to go with the scrap of red fabric, but, in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. It felt like his brother was guarding his back, and he didn’t want to think about why that was so comforting.

Just as he was tightening the straps on his shin guards, a robotic voice spoke; “Five.”

Behemoth lumbered to their feet and hefted their shield. “Four.”

Hon Dör clipped a magazine in place and stood, grabbing her spear. “Three.”

Loki’s hand clutched at the half cape and his muscles tensed, heart accelerating. “Two.”

“One.”

The wall opposite the door split in the middle, and both halves ground as they pulled back. Slowly, a sliver of bright light became visible and it pierced Loki’s eyes. He grunted, threw up a hand to try and block it. From between his fingers, he watched as the gap widened and it became brighter, his eyes barely adjusting. He had been outside before on Sakaar and it had been nowhere _near_ this bad then - the ring was lit by flood lights?

Suddenly he could see again. Behemoth stood in front of him, posture relaxed, and wide body blocking out the light. Loki blinked at them, confused, and tried to ignore the warmth which welled up in his chest. And then they were walking out into the ring, Loki’s eyes stung, but adjusted in Behemoth’s shadow until they no longer hurt as he took stock of his surroundings.

It was, as the name suggested, a giant ring. Stands sloped up atop tall, colourful walls, crowds cheering beneath the glaring flood lights. An amplified voice boomed out as they strode into the arena.

“Hodor of Andromeda!!” The announcement was met with screams from the stands and Hon Dör hefted her spear, shook it. “Don’t be fooled by how small it is, people; it's lasted _months_ in the ring and won’t be giving up without a fight!”

“The Green Beast!” Behemoth didn’t move, but who else could that describe? “Not to be confused with our dear Champion, but it is still a _ferocious_ creature. Not all of those scars are from the ring; we’ve got a warrior on our hands, people!”

“And finally, Luke of some backwoods ice planet!” Loki snorted at that; even these idiots had the right idea of Jötunheim. “It’s only been here a day, but already has blood on its hands - yes, that’s right, the little thing you see is a _bloodthirsty murderer_!!” Roars of approval from the crowd and he rolled his eyes. So, killing Hiroim had apparently been a good idea after all. What a bunch of psychopaths.

“And now for the other team! We’ve got a treat for you today and I would _not_ want to be in the shoes of our underdogs, going up against the team coming out in…” On the opposite side of the ring, a set of large red doors began to grind open. “Three!” The crowd screamed it with the announcer.

“Two!”

“One!”

Another group of three came into view. One was tall, one was about Loki’s height and one was short. More in depth details were difficult to see from so far away, so he listened attentively to the obnoxious bastard who had somehow become the announcer.

“Pointy ear!” What a terrible, unoriginal name. Despite that, the crowd screamed, far louder than they had before, if that was possible. Even at the distance Loki was, their screeching hurt his ears and he hid a wince. “Now don’t let the name fool you. This one is the _longest surviving_ gladiator, other than our Champion!! It’s lasted a year, people, and isn’t about to die now!” More roars, but Loki was studying the figure which was posing for the crowd; about his height and heavily armoured in dark metal. The Dokkalf?

He didn’t hear the other two’s announcement, he was studying the dark form. It held a large gun with both its hands and had more strapped onto its body. Loki cocked his head and squinted, and suddenly the distant figure was crystal clear and he blinked. That wasn’t something which should be happening, but he had more important things to worry about. The Dokkalf held what Midgardians would call a ‘minigun’ and had a hand cannon strapped to its hip, painted to match the armour. By its side was a… Kronan? Loki had only ever seen them on Vanaheim, but, if a million-year-old extinct warrior could be on Sakaar, it was only logical that a sentient pile of rocks could have found its way here, too. The creature held a long mace; like a spear, but with a thicker handle and a hunk of metal on the end for clubbing. By the Kronan’s side was a purple bug on stilts.

Loki raised an eyebrow, but didn’t have time to question his sanity - the crowd was roaring and the amplified voice was yelling loud enough to burst his eardrums. He winced and the clarity of his vision was gone as suddenly as it had come. Across the arena, the three figures were drawing closer, kicking up multi-coloured dust as they ran.

Behemoth strode forward, face set in a vaguely-terrifying scowl and Hon Dör twirled her spear as she studied the approaching figures. “Oh, shit.” Then she glanced over at Loki. “Luke, what do your ‘backwoods ice planet’ eyes see?” He stared back at her and she cocked her head. “Wherever you’re from originally, it’s dark. Therefore, you probably have better vision than us. Would you mind hurrying up and telling me something useful?!”

He was going to snarl something angry and impulsive, but he could see their enemies making swift progress and swallowed his sparking temper. “The Dokkalf - ‘pointy ear’ - has a big automatic gun,” He said, quick as he could. Glanced over at them to check their progress and slipped into a ready stance, balanced on the balls of his feet. “The tall one is a Kronan; living rocks. They’re tough to kill, but-”

“Don’t focus on killing, we win if we can just knock them all out.”

“Right. Strong blow to the head, then. And there’s a little thing with… Knife arms.”

“Knife arms?” She shot him a look, but it was impossible to tell her expression beneath that mask.

Loki snarled at her, “That’s what I _said_ -!” And then bullets were splitting the air next to his head and he rolled to the side.

Without thinking, he had a throwing knife in hand, twisted back to his feet and hurled it at the closest thing facing him - which was the Kronan. His blade bounced off the rocky creature and it looked over at Loki. It then managed to summon an offended expression ( _mid battle_ ) and pointed a finger, said something about being rude. Loki stared for a moment, offered the imbecile a disingenuous smile and charged.

The Kronan let out a startled noise and swung his stupidly oversized weapon, which Loki slid under far too easily. He scooped up the throwing knife as he did. It had been a long time since he had had to fight with a limited supply of weapons and was determined not to run out. But then there was a small, purple, _slimy_ body colliding into his and Loki was sent flying.

When he landed, he was a safe distance from the fray, allowing him to take stock of what was happening.

The Dokkalf was shooting a steady hail of bullets as it walked onward, each step solid and immovable. Opposite it, Behemoth was doing a good job of hunkering down behind their shield, patiently waiting for the minigun to run out of ammo. The Kronan and his bug were fighting Hon Dör who, as Loki watched, was a blur of metal and cloth as she effortlessly weaved away from whatever clumsy attacks the two amateurs attempted.

But then a cry of pain and she was no longer moving as fast, limping. Loki broke out into a run; three were always better than two in a fight and he wasn’t about to let them become disadvantaged so early on.

As he sprinted across the gravel surface, his vision sharpened and he watched her make a desperate roll to the side as one of the bug’s blades came down where she had been moments before. The metal was already slicked with red and droplets flung everywhere as the creature moved. The Kronan raised his club above his head, coiled ready to launch it down atop her small head. And then it was moving, as if in slow-motion, but Loki was there, just in time.

He launched himself into the air with a yell and sped towards the sentient pile of rocks. Just as the club was about to crack Hon Dör’s head open, he struck the weapon, feet first and knees bent to absorb the considerable impact. It was flung from the Kronan’s hands and he started, dumbfounded. Loki hit the floor moments later and was sent tumbling, bouncing off the rough gravel.

Winded and without a weapon in hand, the bug was upon him in seconds. It stabbed down with one of its ‘feet’ and Loki just managed to roll out of the way. He coughed, reached for one of his throwing knives, but he didn’t have time and he had to roll away again and-

A dull thud and the bug fell away, knocked unconscious. He gasped in a breath, stared at the motionless body, but pulled himself together. Above him, Hon Dör was fighting viciously against the Kronan who now seemed to be enraged at the treatment of his friend. She must have managed to spare a moment and struck it with the butt of her spear. It had cost her - she was dodging one moment and the next her weapon was ripped from her and the Kronan snapped it effortlessly. There was no hint of the smartass now.

She stumbled, the back of her shin was cut. But she didn’t stop and pulled the rifle from across her back, leveled it at the creature, started to fire but a great rocky hand closed over the barrel. Loki stumbled to his feet and drew his twin daggers, set a fierce smile to his face and ran into the fray once more.

Just as he got within stabbing range, Hon Dör yanked her rifle away with a furious yell and began emptying rounds into the creature. She retreated behind Loki, giving him room to work with. He dashed in, struck with both blades at the torso, digging into cracks between stones and danced away when arms came down to club him. He stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet, a metre away and grinned at the Kronan. A bullet bounced off his stony shoulder and he roared, storming forward.

Hands came around to smash him into the ground and Loki stepped to the side and grasped one about the wrist. There was a strange expression on the Kronan’s face and Loki laughed in his face as he crushed the rocks in his grasp. It was not at all like breaking ordinary bones, but the scream of pain stayed the same, albeit louder.

The Kronan was knelt down, clutching his wrist and Loki took a dagger, placed it against the creature’s eye and got ready to shove, but someone yelled behind him.

“Luke!” He glanced over. “He’s incapacitated; that counts.” She said, glancing over her shoulder and then turned away from him and true panic entered her voice for the first time. “Green could use some help!”

Loki scowled but shoved the Kronan away and turned his attention to Hon Dör, only to see her sprinting away.

What she was running towards was quite worrying.

Behemoth was fending off the Dokkalf, but only just. The minigun had been discarded and was a wrecked hunk of black metal. Instead, the Svartalfheim warrior was using a hand cannon, coupled with a giant sword Loki somehow hadn’t seen before. Behemoth had wounds littering their entire body, but hadn’t slowed at all and was wielding their shield with dangerous efficiency. Whenever they couldn’t dodge a blow, it was there to block the hit and their fist or foot would flash about the sides to strike at the smaller, if taller, dark elf. It was impressive, how they had managed to hold off such an experienced and evidently deadly warrior by themselves, and Loki felt a grudging respect.

But Behemoth was looking the worse for wear and was purely on the defensive, which wouldn’t win them the fight. If they were going to rely on the Dokkalf wearing out… All history from the period it was probably from indicated they had been experts in attrition warfare, making that route impossible. No, this had to be won quickly.

Loki put on a burst of speed and caught up to Hon Dör before she could fire a shot. “That thing will _not_ tire,” He said before she could protest. “It’s also strong, fast and a brilliant marksman.” She glared at him for a moment, but dipped her head.

“Where should we hit it?” She asked, eyeing what must have been very strange armour for her.

“Back of the head and throat. Don’t try to knock it out; that won’t work.”

She nodded, checked her chamber and fired off a shot, hitting the Dokkalf on the side of its head. She yelled at the creature, loaded another bullet and hit it square in the face.

Behemoth took the opportunity to shove their opponent away and heave in deep lungfuls of air. Loki grabbed two throwing knives and hurled them with deadly accuracy; one at its neck and the other soared towards the mask’s eyehole. He wasn’t surprised when both were dodged, but did have to suppress an incredulous shout when the rest of his four throws missed - not even grazing the Dokkalf. No wonder Svartalfheim had once been a major power in the Nine Realms.

When the final blade left his hand, their opponent evidently decided it had had enough and charged. It didn’t go for Behemoth, or Hon Dör, but Loki. He leapt out of the way of the first attack, the second and even the third. They were all so _fast_ ; he could barely see the blade as it slashed towards him. He only managed to keep his guts in his body because of the faint puff of air which preceded the sword. Loki drew his twin daggers, parried an attack and twisted away from it to come around in a slash with both blades - one for its throat and one for its stomach, but then there was a gun at his temple. He dropped, knees collapsing and a deafening bang went off above him.

Something cool and wet trickled from his left ear and he hadn’t noticed how everything _rang_ before. His daggers slipped from his grasp. But there was no time to be confused. A hand was fisted in his hair, pulling him up until his feet kicked at nothing. His scalp felt like it was waging civil war with his skull and Loki clamped his teeth to smother the scream which welled up in his throat.

He was level with the cold, dead eyes of the Dokkalf’s mask. “Ásgarðransk hath no strength. Naught has changed.” It chuckled and cool metal pressed into the underside of Loki’s chin, hard enough to bruise.

_Click_.

Loki was still for a second, uncomprehending, but then smirked. It had run out of ammo. “Performance issues?” He managed to cough out, then cackled, somewhat hysterically.

Behemoth charged. The distraction had lasted long enough for them to get their breath back, and now they went in swinging. Struck the dark elf across the jaw and flung the entirety of their weight behind their shield, sent it flying and Loki was freed, dropped like a ragdoll. He wrapped his hand about his last weapon - the hunting knife - and rolled to his feet with a mad grin stretching his face painfully. Hon Dör stood next to him, but whatever the two of them were readying for, it wasn’t what Behemoth did.

They set their shoulder behind their shield and did something with the handles and then a beam of light flung from the circular depression in its centre. The light blasted into the Dokkalf, still attempting to get up, and knocked it onto its back. The beam continued for a few seconds, then sputtered out and Loki stared at the rather innocuous-looking shield, though light no longer shone through its cracks.

But it still wasn’t enough.

The creature got up, certainly slower than it would have otherwise, and a deafening roar from the audience which Loki could barely hear. He absentmindedly reached up to the left side of his face and his fingertips came away covered in cold, purple blood. He stared at it a second, then flicked it from his hand and returned his focus to the battle before him. Hon Dör shot him a look, but it was impossible to tell why with that mask.

Behemoth appeared quite shocked - more so than their two teammates. “How…?” They said, confused.

“That armour was the best in the Nine Realms when it was forged,” Loki said absently, falling into the role he had always taken with the Warriors Three. “Nothing will pierce it.”

“Brilliant,” Hon Dör replied and hefted her rifle. “Neck and back of the head?”

“Yes.”

This time, there was no hand cannon; without bullets, it was useless. The Dokkalf charged them with both hands on its greatsword. It first slashed at Behemoth - an attempt to cleave them in two, was blocked by their shield. But that didn’t stop it. Arms bunched beneath the ancient armour and Behemoth was sent flying. Then it was on Loki and delivered a forceful kick to his forehead which was too fast to see, let alone _dodge_ and he crumpled, gravel smushed into his cheek. His brain was doing backflips in his skull as he watched, detached, as Hon Dör’s feet danced frantically a few metres in front of him.

Blackness.

Then he could see again, but not very well. Everything was blurry and the left side of his face was completely covered in blood. Loki slowly pushed himself upright, blinked the purple from his vision. Behemoth was now battling the Dokkalf and the crowd was cheering, but only to his right, as if they had set up camp in the shell of his ear. He forced himself to focus. The green creature was on their front and a sword hung above their head. “‘Moth!” He yelled, as loud as he could. The blade swung down.

But blood didn’t spurt from a green corpse - it had bit into the gravel harmlessly.

Then a loud thud and clang of metal striking metal. The Dokkalf lay on its side on the arena floor, speartip protruding from where its Adam’s apple should have been. Hon Dör knelt down next to Behemoth - Moth, perhaps? It had a certain ring to it. Then her white mask, now dirty and bloodstained, was hovering over Loki. He mustered a smile and stood, waving away her proffered hand. “You killed it?”

“Back of the neck works well, if you ever have to fight one of those things again,” She said with what sounded like a strained laugh.

He smirked, “If you thought that was bad, try taking on one of the Kursed.”

Hon Dör stared at him from behind her mask. “Wherever this ‘Nine Realms’ you’re from is; it’s crazy.”

Loki let a wry smile find its way onto his face, but didn’t reply and a pang of homesickness lodged in his stomach.

About them, people were cheering up in the stands and the announcer was yelling and Loki wanted to ruthlessly murder the lot of them, but he was too tired to even come up with threats to hurl in their direction. Instead, he and the others slowly made their way back to the room they had been in before the fight.

Dead on his feet, Loki collapsed onto the bench and his eyes were shut before he hit the metal. Being imprisoned under Asgard had evidently wreaked havoc on his stamina.

  
  


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Loki awoke to Moth’s large green hand waving in front of his face and their voice quietly asking him to wake up. He blinked groggily and sat upright, waved them off.

He stood. The door was open and the now-familiar armoured guard was there, already walking away with Hon Dör trailing after it. Moth followed her, with a glance over their shoulder to check Loki was following. He rolled his eyes at the creature and strode after them. It was strange, to have someone checking up on him; not in a condescending way, but from what seemed to be genuine concern.

As they walked, he quickly checked if he was badly wounded and was surprised to find that the only injury he had suffered was partial deafness in his left ear. His face was still caked with drying purple blood, but he had somehow come out of the battle without a scratch.

In a daze, they deposited their weapons back in the armoury and were then led back to their cell. Before it shut the door, their escort eyed Moth, then chucked in what looked like a small med kit. Loki raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Hon Dör. “No, they don’t usually do that,” She said.

The green creature didn’t make a move towards the med kit and was staring blankly at the opposite wall, swaying a little on their feet. “Moth?” Loki asked after a beat of silence.

“Moth.” Hon Dör said, somewhat incredulously. “You named them _Moth_?”

Loki scowled. “It fits,” He rebutted, but was examining the being in question. Then they stumbled a little and he stepped to their side without thinking, roughly pushed them down to sit on the floor. “Blood loss, probably.” He said and grabbed the small bag, dug through it. If only he had his magic; it would have been ridiculously easy to heal them.

Instead, he was forced to make do with primitive dressings and some pills. Soon, not much of Moth’s emerald green skin was visible beneath the multitude of bandages Loki and Hon Dör had wrapped about them, but it seemed to be working. After a few minutes, their vacant expression cleared and they looked about, confused.

“I told you they’d be alright,” Hon Dör smirked, and he couldn’t be bothered to remind her she’d said no such thing.

Moth slowly took in the bandages wrapped about them and nodded a ‘thank you’ to their helpers. Loki huffed and sat down away from the other two and started on the undignified process of washing the blood from his face - it included copious amounts of spit and rubbing. In that moment, he would have passed up the Tesseract for a working sink.

Despite his impromptu nap right after fighting in the ring, he was still exhausted bone-deep. His muscles ached and there was a lump forming on his forehead where the Dokkalf had kicked him. Loki touched it gingerly and winced. How many head injuries had he suffered in the past day?

Despite having her own wounds to tend to, Hon Dör appeared next to Loki. “That kick should have pulverised your head,” She said, matter-of-fact. Then; “I’m glad it didn’t. You’re a decent fighter. Bury the hatchet?”

He turned to her and felt the previous outrage at her - for calling him a _fag_ , among other things - but he let it go. “Fine.” It came out harsher than intended, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Hon Dör turned back to treating the cut in her leg, dabbing at it with a scrap of cloth and rubbing it with spit. Loki made to shuffle away from her, but paused. She had asked to ‘bury the hatchet’, so he should at least make a token effort to be civil.

“How do the fights get chosen?” He asked.

She glanced at him. “Evenly matched teams are pitted against each other. We wouldn’t normally go up against something like that armoured one… Or the sentient pile of rocks either - someone thinks highly of your abilities.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, but she seemed serious.

“The announcer said you killed someone?”

He bit back the harsh reply. It wasn’t wrong of her to have asked, he would have done the same in her position. “A man called Hiroim.”

Hon Dör’s shoulders drew up. “The Grandmaster’s recent favourite? _That’s_ how you got out of being a whore so quickly!” She sounded quite pleased to have that piece of information - she had probably been trying to work out that mystery since he had walked into this cell.

“I’m guessing my situation is unusual, then.”

“You could say that.” A pause as she thought, then; “Topaz will probably be quite pleased with you. She’s been wanting Hiroim’s position for all the time I’ve been here - there were even rumours she was planning to kill him.”

Loki nodded thoughtfully. “And these rumours; is there any mention of people who have escaped, or how they did it?” Hon Dör seemed to be quite talkative all of a sudden, and she had months worth of knowledge of this place in which he was now prisoner.

“No escapes, just those who won the Contest.”

“Contest?”

“The Contest of Champions - what they call the arena fights.” Her voice dripped with derision, aimed at whoever ‘they’ were. “To win, you defeat the Champion, but the current one hasn’t been defeated in the two years he’s been here.”

Loki cocked his head, curious. “I’m guessing he’ll be harder to beat than the dark elf…”

She laughed, “You could say that.” Then her mask was staring at him. “The matches with him are solo, and you can’t just _request_ them; you have to work your way up the ranks until the Grandmaster thinks you can put on a show. The… ‘dark elf’ was here for a long time, but he wasn’t anywhere _near_ what you’ll have to defeat to contest the Champion. If you’re good enough and if you declare the challenge, it’s locked in.” When he didn’t waver, she sighed. “You’re really serious about this?”

He didn’t say anything, but his stony expression said it for him.

“I wish my brother was even half as good at it as you. He certainly would _not_ fight to get back to me,” Hon Dör said, tone light, but oddly serious at the same time.

Loki felt anger rising in his chest again - she was _mocking_ him, he was certain of it. His face grew hot and he said something. Something angry and ill thought out. She recoiled and tensed. He hadn’t realised she had relaxed.

She didn’t say anything, just stood, turned, marched away with a stiff spine.

Loki scowled at her retreating back.

But, a little voice in the back of his head was overjoyed.

He was a _good_ brother.

  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't have the usual amount of time to edit this one, please let me know if you spot any grammatical or spelling errors!
> 
> Also I hope someone noticed my LOTR meme I spent too many hours figuring out how to insert it lmao


	5. Regaining

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Apparently, the physical exertion of nearly dying to the Dokkalf had done him some good. The usual tight knot of simmering anger buried in his stomach had loosened, no longer lurking in wait for any wayward comment to stoke it into murderous rage. A relief, but not permanent, he knew. Taking your anger out in a violent rage wasn’t the answer, at least not for long.

For the hours afterwards, he and his two teammates slept and recovered. Moth healed rather quickly for a mortal and so did Hon Dör, though not as impressively, since her only wound was a gash on the back of her shin. Loki’s hearing cleared up within half an hour and, a few minutes later, he had wiped away the last traces of blood from his face.

There wasn’t much to do in the corridor-made-prison they were left in other than to talk and think. He was too annoyed with himself, over how his mouth had spat words without input from his mind. So that left thinking. Which also wasn’t a good idea with that simmering ball now miraculously quiet, that he had become so familiar with he only noticed it now for the strange silence. His anger was something he had built himself around since his first fall, when he had let go of Gungnir. Let the darkness convince him he had been thrown from the bridge just to twist him, warp him, turn him more to his rage and cling to it.

Loki breathed in a deep lungful of air and slowly exhaled it through his nose.

What had happened in the Void was years ago. Yet it still affected him and filled that Pandora’s Box in his chest to breaking point, but he hadn’t the time to deal with it.

Priority number one was getting off of Sakaar, he reminded himself forcefully. He needed to know what had happened to Thor, to Odin, to _Asgard_. Nothing else mattered for the moment, and he locked the topic of the Void away, for later when he wasn’t a mad despot’s gladiator.

With that decided, he turned his attention to what he knew; to be freed, he had to defeat the Champion. To fight the Champion, he had to find his way through the ranks of this ‘Contest of Champions’. The battle would be solo and he couldn’t even defeat the Dokkalf, supposedly incredibly weak compared to the Champion, without significant help from his teammates.

But, he had _time_.

Even as the memory of the Dokkalf jeered at how helpless he, a _warrior Prince of Asgard_ had been, it offered solace, too. Because he knew that hours here would translate to seconds on the Realm Eternal, giving him time to become better. Become better in every way, because he would need to. If Asgard needed _him_ , then it was as a last resort.

A plan, the bare bones of one, formed in his mind. It was simplistic and only marginally better than Thor’s classic ‘I’ll whack it with a hammer’. Yet, it was a structure with an end goal to work towards.

Loki would train.

He would train and fight and keep his head down. He would be humble and befriend his cellmates and climb the ranks. He would then challenge and defeat the Champion and find a way to Asgard and…

That was where his plan tapered off.

He’d just have to get there first, then worry about what he found. Perhaps it would be a Realm-sized morgue, with everyone he knew slaughtered. Or, they had killed Hela and would kill him on sight for betraying them as Odin had undoubtedly declared. Perhaps his own brother would be the one to deliver the final blow? He had sworn to kill him for another betrayal. Loki didn’t think he’d mind dying, if it was by Thor’s hand and Asgard was safe instead of a burning wreck.

Perhaps, perhaps, _perhaps_.

Loki shook his thoughts away to the tune of Hon Dör’s deep snoring and the whisper of skin sliding across metal as Moth twitched in their sleep.

First, he had to improve in combat. With his magic, he probably wouldn’t have had to, but, since it was cut from him... Physical battles had never been Loki’s forte, but he was a quick learner.

At one point, what felt like long ago, he had nearly been Thor’s equal in the ring. They had practiced every day, Odin punishing his war prize for embarrassing him with its ‘womanly ways’ by forcing it to be beaten senseless until the accusations that the King had an ergi son stopped. So he knew it wasn’t _impossible_ , though it may feel like it was.

Loki stood from where he had been dozing against the wall and stretched. He started to warm up, went through the motions and slipped into the ancient pattern, as if it was written into his bones. It took nearly half an hour for him to work the kinks from his muscles. At which point, the two other occupants had awoken.

Moth was studying him quietly as they unwound the last few bandages from their now-unbroken emerald skin. Hon Dör was studiously staring at the wall opposite her, hands fidgeting mindlessly.

“You want to kill the Champion,” They said, not questioning enough to be asking it, but still not a flat statement either. Loki glanced at them, then nodded, continued with his last stretch. Moth opened their mouth to say something, but looked over at Hon Dör for a split second, then their teeth clicked together as they closed it.

Without weapons, readying for battle would be a challenge, but not impossible. The first problem to tackle _had_ to be his complete lack of physical strength and stamina. After sitting in place, barely eating in Asgard’s cell for months, his muscles had evidently atrophied.

So, Loki started to jog.

Their corridor looped, without ever actually bending - the perfect cardiovascular training course.

He ran, slowly, grasping his anger, starting to flare again, and set it into an iron bar of will. A few seconds and his muscles started to ache, only minutes for pain to set in. He gritted his teeth, continued on at his excruciatingly slow pace.

Plodded past Moth and Hon Dör. Once, twice, three times and then one leg collapsed and he ground to a halt, huffing and face hot. But they didn’t laugh and jeer at him, sniggered at how weak and inferior he was. Loki filled his lungs, emptied them slowly and his breathing became more even.

Then he got up again, muscles shaking and set off, this time at a walk.

He walked laps until sweat streamed down his face and he was absolutely exhausted, then stopped, slumped down close to where the other two were.

“What happened to you?” Hon Dör asked, her voice frosty but curiosity burnt beneath it.

Loki wiped sweat away from his eyes. “Prison,” He said. Let her make of that what she wanted. “I thought you didn’t like me?” His anger was quiet again, as if it was as worn out as the rest of him.

“You are a touchy bastard,” She shrugged. “I don’t _like_ you, but you’re far from the worst I’ve ever met. Additionally, you’re a decent fighter, you know things _and_ you could be my best chance of getting out of here.” Then she turned to look up at him through the slit in her mask. “But you need to get that temper under control. You’re lucky it’s hard to truly piss me off.”

He snorted, but didn’t question his good luck. Hon Dör knew far more than him and was, currently, also a superior warrior. More enemies was _not_ something he could afford. “I will not... snap at you again.”

“And I’ll tell you if you do,” She was smiling wryly behind her mask, he somehow knew.

Loki raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He was exhausted already and felt his eyelids start to droop. But, after a few more minutes recovering his strength, he stood again and set off, walking more laps until his feet were numb. Then he sat again.

Hours passed. He would walk or jog or do stretches, rest, maybe sleep or talk, then return to it. Muscles aching, but he improved. Slowly but surely, he could go longer and longer before collapsing to the floor. For the first time, he felt somewhat grateful that Odin was forcing him to remain in his Jötunn form. Frost Giants were notorious for being able to gain muscle mass in days when necessary. It was probably an evolutionary trait from how frequent starvation was; being able to recover back to peak performance in as little time as possible would be important for survival. As Æsir, he probably wouldn’t have even been able to walk out of his cell on Asgard.

He sat down, wiped away more sweat and felt the strange, rough texture of the blue skin in a thin gash on his palm. He looked at it - unnatural and wrong as it was, he would need to get used to it until his seidðr was reinstated. Next to him, Moth glanced down at it too, then up into Loki’s face. Evidently, they saw something there. “Luke,” They paused awkwardly and shifted in place. “It’s a nice colour…?” They said, lilted up at the end like it was a question. Poor thing; stupid _and_ socially inept.

“Not especially,” Loki replied anyway. He didn’t need to continue, but words built up in his mouth until they spilt out of their own accord. “It is... unappreciated by my people.”

They struggled with that for a second, but soldiered on. “Then your people are wrong and idiotic,” Moth said decisively. After a few moments, they spoke again, this time haltingly. “The Zen-Whoberis, our people… There were ones with purple-tipped hair instead of pink. They were all killed because of it, a long time ago. When we, our species, realised we had killed the sister-species…” They lapsed into silence. “It is awful to hate people because of small things.”

“People, not animals,” Loki rebuked, but without any force; he was too tired for it.

Moth blinked, confused. “But you can talk. You’re not an animal.”

He shrugged, turned away from them. “It doesn’t matter.” Closed his hand into a fist.

If Loki ever found his way to Asgard, or Thor found his way to Sakaar, he would need some way to cover the broken patches. No doubt his brother would want to ‘slay the monster’. He owed Thor for freeing him, but that had been done whilst there had evidently been great need. And, immediately after he was released, all involved could pretend he was, in fact, Æsir. If- _when_ they met again, he would have ‘betrayed’ his brother, and that alone would be reason enough to kill him. Adding the reminder of his kin wouldn’t help.

But that was a concern for another day.

First, he had to escape Sakaar, or Thor had to fall through one of the portals, and that hadn’t yet happened. So. No use dwelling on how he would be killed by his brother whom he was indebted to (not worried for, _of course_ _not_ ).

Loki sat beside the green creature and banished the thoughts from his head. Every time he tried to just focus on the now - escaping Sakaar - the Realm Eternal and her royal family would come crashing into his head.

A low grumble interrupted the vicious cycle going through his head, like a snake biting its tail. He glanced to the side, surprised, to see Moth with a hand on their stomach, looking vaguely mortified. It growled again and they muttered an apology. Loki blinked, “You’re hungry.”

“Yes.” They said. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Loki replied, vaguely confused, but too exhausted to engage his brain with the conversation, “There is no controlling your digestion.”

Moth shrugged and opened their mouth to explain, but Hon Dör butted in; “Cultural differences,” She said.

“I know what you mean,” Loki interrupted. He wasn’t some sort of idiot, despite what that masked woman supposedly believed.

“The guard will be here soon to escort us to the mess hall,” She said as she inspected her gloved hands. “It’s been a day, at least, since we ate.”

Loki glanced at the door, but it didn’t miraculously open, as if the armoured creature had been summoned by Hon Dör. Instead, they remained sat there in a row, leant back against the cool white wall. Against his back he could feel the furrows and ridges of tallies carved into the metal. Opposite him, there were those strange circles, written in some language he didn’t recognise. There wasn’t anything important to them, but they were something to study as he waited, weary muscles aching such that he didn’t want to even think about moving.

He drifted into a light doze, eyes very nearly closed but still shifting under his lids. Time passed; probably only half an hour, and then a great green hand was lightly on his shoulder, and Moth’s voice was saying something, close by.

With a shudder, Loki woke and stumbled to his feet. The first thing he noticed was hunger - it was light, and not yet troubling, but still strange. Usually, he could last weeks without food and his stomach would never trouble him. Perhaps another effect of his heritage. Or from how active he had been so soon after his stint in Asgard’s dungeon.

No matter. He was hungry, therefore he would need to eat. And, thankfully, the door was open and his two teammates were already heading towards it, Moth glancing over their shoulder to ensure he was following behind. Loki nodded at them and set off, rubbed sleep from his eyes once they had turned back round. The same guard as before; or at least the same height and armour, was leading them.

It was the same pathway as previously, and the three soon emerged in the armoury. “I thought we were going for food,” Loki said under his breath as their guard left behind them, heavy boots clomping away.

“Fights often break out in the mess hall,” Hon Dör said, not sneaking off immediately this time. “They wouldn’t be as entertaining if we were unarmed. But ensure you choose well, since there isn’t a way of knowing if we will be in the ring after eating or not.”

He nodded. It wasn’t a bad system; be entertained by idiots fighting in the mess between bouts and don’t forewarn the combatants to keep them on edge. “What about here?” He asked. From a cursory glance at the room, he didn’t think fighting would be allowed, but it was always nice to be sure.

“No brawls allowed in the armoury. If they do, a guard comes in to break it up; break some bones, too.” Hon Dör shrugged noncommittally. “Now let’s be quick, we only get about ten minutes.”

Loki nodded and made a beeline for the knife rack, peeking over the heads of the crowd as it milled. He dodged through the throng, sidestepping and swaying away from the multitude of blades and gun muzzles and other business-ends of weapons he didn’t even recognise.

It didn’t take long to reach the knives, but only to realise they had pretty much all been taken. Except for a singular blade which had lumpy, brittle metal and a jaggedy, broken hilt. Loki didn’t give it a second glance and scoured the rack for remaining weapons, but found nothing. Only the bare wood stared up at him, almost mockingly. He scowled.

With an annoyed huff, Loki looked around some more - perhaps there was another, hidden, knife rack? But, no. Someone had taken all the daggers. Even the throwing knives, which most warriors could only use as a letter opener! He shouldn’t have been so surprised - Sakaar’s gladiators were evidently multi-talented, and not ignorant warriors of the Nine Realms.

He couldn’t have long left to find a weapon, and Loki scanned the armoury, gaze skimming along the walls and bouncing across a multitude of helmeted heads. Then his eyes locked onto a sword hilt, poking up from the mass of milling bodies. Without a second thought, he wound through the crowd and quickly assessed what was available to him.

Swords of all shapes and sizes - broadsword, katana, longsword… It was actually quite impressive, a far greater variety than Asgard had ever offered. He ran his hand over the selection, and came to a stop at a rapier. It had no ornate swirls, but was instead a strictly functional piece of metalwork. The blade was long, slender and made for thrust-and-slash combat, with a sharp edge at the tip and running along both edges. Its hilt was as functional as the rest, with a hand guard which wrapped over his fist as he lifted it. Loki hummed approvingly, quickly found the scabbard and clipped it to his belt at his hip, the weight comforting and dull metal glinting.

Just as he wound his way back to the door, it opened with a groan, the guard reappeared behind it. Loki and Hon Dör stood before the entryway, then Moth rejoined them once again, and they were led from the armoury.

As they walked, the sheathe’s tip clanked on the metal parts of his armour, until Hon Dör glanced over, somewhat confused. Then she let out a sound, halfway between a laugh and a snort.

“You chose one of _those_?” She said incredulously. “You do realise that you could be required to go into the ring with that?”

Loki scowled and placed a hand on the hilt. “I am _evidently_ far more knowledgeable than you in these matters,” He hissed, then was cut off.

“Snapping, Luke,” She looked up at him and there was an edge to her voice. “You will need to be quick on your feet to use it.”

“Masked lady is concerned, we think,” Moth said. “She doesn’t think you’re bad or stupid.”

His scowl lessened as he realised he had been overreacting, causing the ball of anger to sputter and fiz as it was put out. He shoved the feelings away and dipped his head, as much of an apology as he could muster up.

Hon Dör shrugged and the rest of their walk passed in silence. Not unfriendly or hostile, but a surprisingly peaceable quiet.

  
  


♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙

  
  


Loki poked at his gruel with a spoon, then took a half-hearted bite.

The other two sat opposite him and were inhaling the mushy substance, faces close to their bowls and cutlery a blur. He couldn’t fathom how Hon Dör managed to eat whilst wearing her mask. Nothing marred its blank surface, despite the speed at which she was eating.

Moth finished first and looked over at Loki’s virtually untouched meal. They opened their mouth to ask, but he pushed the bowl over before they could say anything. He had been hungry before, but seeing the slop had made him lose his appetite.

Just as Moth was starting to tuck in, Hon Dör spoke up. “Luke, you need to eat.”

Loki glowered at her and she shrugged, hands up in the air in a gesture of ‘why-do-I-care’. But Moth stopped shoveling, and looked up with an expression of realisation.

“You need to eat?” They asked, as if it hadn’t occurred to them before.

Loki rolled his eyes, then opened his mouth to inform the dumb creature that he, in fact, gained energy from the tears of his enemies, when the bowl of gruel was pushed back across the table.

“You should eat, Luke,” Moth said seriously.

The Prince glared.

Hon Dör snorted. “You’re really _that_ petty?” She almost laughed.

Loki picked up his spoon and began to eat in slow, deliberate bites. “ _No_ ,” He snarled after swallowing a mouthful of bland gruel.

“Good,” She replied, shaking her head, as if lamenting her sudden role as caretaker for this newest addition to her team.

For a moment, Hon Dör surpassed Scrapper 142 on his ‘most-wanted-dead’ list, but he pushed the murderous impulse away. Even he could understand that eating in such a situation was probably a good idea. She had a pass this one time.

It took too long for Loki to force himself to eat the gruel. Once that particularly nasty task was over, he painted the most aloof and dignified expression he could onto his face and sat back in his chair. His knuckle found its way to his mouth, ruining the image, but he didn’t particularly care - these people were unimportant, they just had to not kill him until he could defeat the Champion and get off of Sakaar.

Golden hair brushed his cheek, but he had been almost expecting it.

**My boy, be more considerate of your friends.**

She seemed reproachful this time, and he turned his face away from where he somehow knew she was. Loki didn’t say anything, just bit down on his knuckle more, the rough, not-Æsir patch of skin tasted odd. Warm breath puffed as she sighed.

**I am here to warn you. The Champion… You** **_cannot_ ** **fight him.**

Loki didn’t respond. He couldn’t, not with Moth and Hon Dör sat opposite him. And even if he could, what was there to say? To his mother, whom he had failed disastrously.

**Why do you not answer me?**

Frigga sounded despairing, now. As if brought close to tears. Could she not see his surroundings? Whatever allowed her dead soul to reach beyond the grave, perhaps it was bound to him and him alone? But for what reason…

**No matter. My son, you have never truly been a warrior and I would not have you become one. Even your brother cannot defeat this Champion, for you to attempt it may mean** **_death_** **!**

Loki felt words well up and he forced them down. He didn’t have a choice, in regards to the Champion. There was no other way. Even _with_ his seiðr, it had felt impossible.

Then the presence over his shoulder disappeared and he shuddered, as if a sudden cold swept over him. Even with the multitude of books he had read, there had never been even a _hint_ that spirits could communicate after death of their own volition. Speaking with the dead was a dark art, and not something Loki had the ability to do, let alone by accident! Frigga, _somehow_ , had to be communicating to him without any sort of spell.

That, or he had finally gone completely mad.

Well, if that was the answer… He would just continue on. If it was only hallucinations of his mother, then he could still function, still find his way to Asgard and ascertain what had happened.

Loki nodded to himself, though he kept the motion almost imperceptible. Madness was far more likely than Frigga’s soul actually contacting him, especially after being exposed to the Void yet again. Last time, the time when he had fallen through it unendingly… His actions on Midgard had hardly been _sane_ , and it was his solitude in Asgard’s dungeon that had allowed him to piece himself back together. Despite it not being even half as long, or with a certain Mad Titan involved, it had still been the Void.

Perhaps it had reopened those cracks in his mind and nearly smashed open the chest in which he kept his mother’s death, his heritage and that ball of anger. It wasn’t nearly as bad as before, but maybe bad enough to cause hallucinations.

A green hand waved in front of his face and Loki blinked at it.

“We should go,” Moth said. Hon Dör was already well on her way to the exit, where the guard was waiting. They waved their hand again and Loki lightly batted it away.

“I can hear you just fine,” He said with a half-hearted grumble.

Almost in unison, the two stood and made their way towards the exit, careful to avoid brawling piles of bodies and the odd plate whistling through the air. Once they reached the door, they set off.

Unfortunately, not back the way they came, but towards the ring.

Loki felt himself tense up automatically. He did _not_ want to go up against something like that Dokkalf again. He wasn’t ready yet! Last time, he had only survived because of Moth and Hon Dör, which was bad in and of itself. Being dependent on the large, green idiot and aggravating, masked woman was _not_ a good place for him to be in.

But they arrived at the familiar blank door before he could get over the strange fear which clung to him. Loki swallowed as it opened and he was pushed inside after his legs refused to carry him in. It shut behind him, locking Moth and Hon Dör outside. Evidently, this was to be a solo match.

The feeling of helplessness flowed over him and he sat down on the bench. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been _this_ pitiful before battle. Then again, he had no one to back him up and, for the first time, there was no way Thor would be able to swoop in at the last moment. Ensure a killing blow didn’t land, or that he got the poison’s cure just in time, or some other heroic feat only his brother could pull off. How the Dokkalf had handled him as if he was a child wasn’t helping, either.

Loki blinked as, suddenly, blinding white light spiked into his eyes and he flung up an arm. He had forgotten about the floodlights and, without Moth to block them out, he was pretty much blind. It was almost like being back to Asgard, and a flash of it appeared in his mind’s eye. But Loki shoved the phantom image away and cursed his stupidity. Next time, he would be sure to find a helmet with some sort of vision guard.

He walked out into the bright light, kept his hand over his eyes until they adjusted and he could see a bit better. There was the ridiculous announcer again, but this time it appeared he was the last to enter the ring. Across from him, his opponent didn’t look too threatening, but neither had the purple bug with sword feet from the previous battle.

It was about his height and appeared the same as an Æsir, though he knew it wasn’t. In its hands were a familiar set of daggers, and Loki snarled, annoyed, as his vision sharpened. It was a strange sensation, to suddenly be able to clearly see something so far away. Another effect of Odin binding him to this form, he thought, distractedly. At least it was somewhat helpful.

The bastard across from him was the one who had taken the knives. They were strapped all across his body in ridiculous places. Some were at such odd angles and areas, someone else must have helped him prepare.

An uproar from the crowd and he winced. But there was no time for it - the knife hoarder was running towards him, waving twin blades like an idiot.

Loki snarled and unsheathed his rapier. As an expert with the opponent’s weapon and equally as proficient in his own, he had the upper hand.

Closer, kicking up dust. He was wearing the clothes Loki had been put in by Hiroim, what felt like months ago. So, this was evidently an idiot he was facing. An overly confident idiot, by the way he was screaming, running and ineffectively twizzling those knives.

The last curls of fear left him and he laughed - cackled, really. His opponent’s face twisted in anger and he sped up, feet pounding into the multicoloured gravel and the crowd screamed approval.

Loki started to walk towards the approaching IQ blackhole and twirled his sword in a mocking parody of what it was attempting to do.

And then throwing knives were soaring at him, not very accurate or fast, but most would have hit him if he didn’t sway out of the way or bat them to the side. Loki grinned, felt his cheeks stretching and suddenly wished for control over his illusion - it would have been rather hilarious to see this imbecile’s reaction to sharp Jötunn fangs.

His opponent was now maybe a metre away and the twin daggers were shoved towards his stomach and chest. The Prince twisted away, rapier held uselessly by his side. The next attack was a slash aimed at his neck and he stepped back from that, too, allowing it to whisper past a milimetre from his skin. Pivot, boot struck out to catch him in the stomach.

This time, he didn’t dodge away, though it would have been easy to. Like he had been thinking before, he wasn’t ready to face warriors like the Dokkalf alone. _Yet_ . This mess, he could handle blindfolded and hands bound. But, if he didn’t want to be pitted against something which would undoubtedly kill him... Then he had to make it look like he wasn’t _completely_ outclassing this idiot, which was weaker than a paraplegic.

Loki let himself fly back, a little surprised by the force in that kick, more due to his own current weakness than any strength in his opponent. He pushed himself up, feigning pain in his midsection. Across from him, the idiot was laughing and twirling his knives, nearly dropping them so often it took all his strength not to roll his eyes.

Not pushing the advantage while an enemy was down… Loki couldn’t repress his disbelieving snort. With a smirk, he gestured at him to continue and he did, an answering, cocky grin on his face.

More clumsy attacks, all of which the Prince dodged or allowed to only just graze him, but on his arms or legs, where the resulting blue slash would be covered by any decent clothing.

He let the show go on for a little while, until it would be obvious to even children that he was somewhat better than his opponent, but not that he could squash him with ease. Another kick, and this time he held up his rapier once he regained his feet.

“Might want to start trying,” Loki warned the idiot, then launched forwards.

A thrust, which he managed to backpedal away from, then a slash to disembowel him that was blocked and Loki didn’t bother disengaging blades, instead kicked him in the crotch and watched, rather delighted, as he fell down with a howl of pain. It was over so quickly, he hadn’t even had the chance to properly mock his opponent.

The announcer started screaming overhead. Such an annoying, grating voice should never have been amplified and Loki scowled, not bothering to listen, until he heard the words, "-kill him?" He glared up at the too-bright sky.

“This is a _death match_ , people, and little Con Nor won’t be getting a quick, honourable death in combat, apparently! The savage ice planet is really coming out in Luke!!”

Ah. He turned back to looking at his opponent. Connor, apparently.

Connor was struggling to get up and his face was twisted into a snarl. He hefted his blades and charged Loki again with a roar.

He stepped to the side, barely thinking and parried the blow close to the hilt. Hooked one of the protruding pieces of metalwork over the knife and twisted it out of Connor’s hand. The other blade came at him from the side in a stab. Loki grabbed the hand and twisted it until the weapon dropped away, plucked it from the air. Stepped into the man’s space, jammed the blade up into the soft spot under Connor’s chin.

The body jerked for a moment, then went limp and fell down when he pulled the knife from its skull. Loki leant down and wiped it clean on those awfully gaudy clothes, then straightened up to incredibly loud cheers which reverberated about the stadium. He lifted his rapier without any feeling and the volume increased, if that was possible.

Somehow, he felt dirty as he looked down at the body, blood staining the colourful gravel beneath it. He shrugged the strange feeling away as he turned from the ring and headed back inside.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooo! Is that a conscience I see on the horizon? Probably not, but here's to hoping xD
> 
> Hopefully this is a lil bit cuter, cus the babs deserve a break.
> 
> Also, do ya'll have any theories about Frigga? I'd be interested to hear any theories/scenes you'd like to see. I might be able to write them in who knows!
> 
> Your comments make my day :)


	6. Air Time

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Loki was escorted back to their corridor, after a stop at the armoury to remove his weapon. Whilst there, he had a quick search for any helmets, but none of them had the necessary vision guard.

When he entered the odd cell, his two teammates glanced up at him. Hon Dör’s expression was inscrutable as ever behind her mask, but Moth looked relieved. “You’re alright,” They said.

“Yes,” He replied, still not completely used to how this creature, who barely knew him, was so caring. “I’m unharmed.”

Moth’s smile widened into a warm grin. “We are glad.”

Loki waved the strange concern away and gave himself a quick check over. None of the now half-healed wounds were deep enough to be concerning or impede mobility, but it would be a good idea to tend them, just in case. He sat and shed the armour until he was left with his slashed-up leather shirt and pants, rolled sleeves and trouser legs up to reveal the thin cuts.

About them was the slowly-becoming-familiar blue skin, showing through his broken illusion when the almost-solid skin he had conjured broke. It was a complex working, and made powerful and permanent due to the rune it was bound to, coupled with a small blood sacrifice. He focused on making sure the wounds wouldn’t become infected and watched as they swiftly closed. Wiped the remaining blood away, and it was as if he had never been injured, except for the gashes of blue now marring him.

Loki unrolled the worn leather, then stared at the multitude of slits in his clothes. In the heat of battle, he had quite forgotten he couldn’t magically repair things anymore, and that he only had one outfit to wear.

Moth had a vaguely concerned expression on their face, then turned to Hon Dör. “Luke has ripped his clothes,” They said.

“I have eyes,” Hon Dör grumbled, but glanced over at Loki. “There should be a needle and thread in the med kit.”

An eyebrow rose of its own accord. If a wound was serious enough to require stitches… He really shouldn’t have been surprised and he pushed it aside as he scanned the corridor for that small box. He found it, shoved far away and went over, rummaged around for the promised tools. After finding them, he got to work on stitching up the tears, neat and careful rows of small black lines. It was methodical and mindless, and Loki felt himself relaxing at the familiar task. Despite how Asgard had frowned upon him for this particular skill, it had served him well, and was worth the chiding and occasional beatings to have learnt it.

He could feel Hon Dör’s judgemental eyes on the back of his head, and he barely suppressed a snarl. “Never met a man who could sew?” Voice cold and pointed, his shoulders tensed.

“I’ve never met _royalty_ that could sew,” She corrected scathingly. But then she seemed to soften. “Most people are not as bigoted as those in your ‘Nine Realms’.”

It felt as if the muscles in his back were about to snap, even as he tried to appear more relaxed. He studiously continued with his stitches, carefully patching his clothes.

Hon Dör was silent for a bit, and he could hear her shifting behind him. “You are easier to read than you think you are,” She said eventually, then returned to her fiddling.

Loki didn’t manage to relax for far too long after that, his clothes decorated with many unnecessary stitches in careful patterns, spreading out from each now-fixed cut. He ran a finger over them, feeling the thread form bumps and traced elegant swirls.

But time, whilst he wasn’t short of it, was still precious. Loki stood and strapped his armour back on, the silver and black and hints of red was comforting, even though it was only a shadow of his usual colours.

A series of stretches and then he was running. More laps, this time, before he collapsed. Five of them, faster than before. When he stumbled and hit the floor, he bit back a curse and shoved himself back upright to continue at a slower pace.

Like before, hours passed. The others slept, talked, twiddled their thumbs. Loki walked, sat for a rest, ran some more until he collapsed again. Six laps this time. Press ups to try and increase his arm strength, which, whilst it had never been good, was currently _miserable_ compared to previously. He would have been able to nail someone in the forehead from across the ring before his stint on Asgard, and that was quite a useful ability he needed to regain.

Slowly but surely, he could run faster and longer. He could do more press ups and he felt the strength returning to him. It was almost surreal, seeing how ridiculously fast he improved. Every stop for sleep was short and only when he could barely stand upright from exhaustion. Pushing himself so hard wasn’t good for any bouts in the ring, but it would help him in the long run and be ultimately worth it, especially if he was pitted against more imbeciles who wouldn’t be a threat even if Loki lost all his limbs.

Another day passed like this, supposedly. In the corridor, nothing changed to indicate passage of time. The only possible measure was when the armoured guard appeared, opened the door and led them to the armoury, then the mess hall, then to the ring or back into their cage. Whoever it was that had tried keeping a track of time with the tallies scratched into the walls was evidently long gone. And their attempt had been futile, no doubt.

Nothing of interest occurred, other than Moth having a solo fight. When they returned, they weren’t even tired, but had looked drawn, as if their energy had been sucked from them. Before he could shove away an odd feeling in his stomach at the sight, words escaped his mouth. “You’re alright,” Loki said. It was a statement, but lilted up at the end like a question.

Moth was silent, blinking slowly, but then seemed startled into consciousness. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Hon Dör glanced between them for a second. “What he meant to say is this; ‘are you alright?’”

They seemed to shake the grey pallor away from their skin. It was odd, seeing Moth without their usual smile. But, just as Loki realised it was missing, it reappeared. A weary form of the usual welcoming grin, but still an attempt. “I will be fine,” Moth said, and there wasn’t a hint of a lie in their voice. “The other fighter was young this time…”

Silence, and Hon Dör slowly reached up and rested a small hand on Moth’s forearm, the first time he had seen her touch anyone else in a non-violent way.

Loki felt vastly uncomfortable. Of their own accord, his hands fiddled with the scrap of red fabric on his back. Slowly, trying not to be too obvious, he shifted away from the two, seemingly mourning a nameless idiot who couldn’t defend themself.

Thankfully, Moth got over it rather quickly, and the pulling in Loki’s stomach eased. He continued running.

  
  


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The next time the door opened, it was less boring. As had become the norm, Loki was vaguely hungry, but was more of a suggestion to find food than anything else. They were escorted to the armoury by their guard.

Once inside, Loki grabbed his weapons - the rapier, which had grown on him since first being forced to use it, as well as a selection of knives. More familiar with the room’s layout, it took only a few seconds for him to gather the items, and a few more to clip them onto his armour. Just as Loki was returning to the door, something caught his eye and he paused.

Scrapper 142, that infernal Asgardian, was in the armoury! She had just entered, swaggering into the room with a bag, sharp edges jutting from within it. Eyes flinty, but exuding confidence, she didn’t seem to have noticed him yet. Loki was in the crowd, nothing about him stood out, for which he was now grateful. Then an idea broke into his mind and, after a few moments of considering it, he allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.

In a moment he had summoned a brainlessly happy expression and strode over, trying his best to hide how his hands shook in anger. She had captured him and brought him to this place, where he was _powerless_ and wasting his time. Every second could be spent finding out what had happened on Asgard, to _Thor_ , to ease the sick feeling which squatted in his gut.

142 saw him the instant he started towards her, and her gaze turned from steel to ice. A smirk stole over her face and Loki fought the urge to rip it from her skull. After not having a target for his ire the past day, his pent up anger was roaring to violently murder her. Instead, he smiled back, as beguiling and innocently happy as he could manage.

“I’ve not seen you in a while!” He exclaimed, as if genuinely pleased to see his captor.

Her smirk turned somewhat uneasy. “I don’t check in on my cash grabs, sorry,” She poured sarcastic sweetness into her voice, then slapped him drunkenly on the shoulder. “I’m on the clock. Move it, snowflake.” Without pause, she walked past him and began unloading the bag; swords and guns and whips were thrown to the floor, then scooped up again by countless gladiators who either kept or put away the weapons. Bootlickers.

The fake smile faltered into the more natural-feeling scowl, but Loki schooled his expression back into something civil and approached again. “I was worried that something happened to you,” He said with all the concern he could muster.

Scrapper 142 snorted disbelievingly. “And you’re also going to kiss my ass for selling you as a bed slave?” A hip flask appeared in her hand and she took a swig, chucked some more weapons about with very little care.

“It’s better here than Jötunheim,” Loki said with a shrug.

A short laugh burst out of her. “Don’t doubt it.”

“You’ve been there?” He asked, widening his eyes and pushing hope into them, to shine there. “Is everyone okay?”

“And why are you so interested?” She snarled, becoming annoyed. “The last time I was on that damned rock, I was on population control.”

He was sorely tempted to say ‘me too’, but refrained. Instead, he looked away with a hurt and somewhat confused expression. She didn’t bat an eye. Stone cold bitch.

Moth, however, did.

They suddenly appeared behind Loki, arms crossed and a decidedly _un_ friendly frown on their face. “Drunk lady,” They said disapprovingly.

“Big green man!” She replied, swaying a little bit. “ _You_ are a sight for sore eyes.”

Loki paused.

“You are not,” Moth replied calmly. “Leave Luke alone.”

142 snorted. “Gladly. It came to me,” She protested drunkenly and took another swig.

From his newfound protector’s face, that was the wrong thing to say.

Tension filled the air so thickly that Loki could feel it trailing across his skin. Currently, he was in the middle of the two people creating said tension. He really didn’t want to be in any way involved in a fight between them. So, with a weak smile, he attempted to diffuse the situation.

“Moth,” He said. “I’m sure Scrapper 142 didn’t mean to be... offensive.”

“I _did_ mean to be offensive,” She retorted, downed what remained in her hip flask and stuffed it somewhere in her armour, probably alongside a horde of similar, empty, receptacles. “I’ve killed _lots_ of Frost Giants,” She slurred with some pride in her voice, mumbled for a second and then turned her gaze back to Loki. Eyes slightly sharper despite the haze of alcohol. “You called them ‘ _Moth_ ’?!”

He didn’t know how to respond to that question. “You’re delivering weapons?” Loki said instead.

“Catching you cast-offs is a pain, this is easy,” She replied, then gathered up her empty bag and slung it over her shoulder with some effort, swaying drunkenly. “Bye.”

And then she was tottering off, another bottle miraculously procured from who-knew-where. But, it didn’t matter; he had what he wanted from her.

When he had first been brought in, through the halls filled with people, he had not seen even _one_ delivery-laden person. At the time, he had been too shocked and dazed to notice. But, with 142’s helpful reminder, it had returned to his attention. Since she had remarked that it was an ‘easy’ job - easier than capturing people who had just fallen a _very_ long way and probably were completely unarmed, when she had an entire ship of guns. Add to that her upbringing as an Asgardian, and he couldn’t fathom why it wouldn’t be an ‘easy’ job.

However, if she actually meant _convenient_ , that was a different story.

It would mean that 142 should be able to collect a sufficient amount of weapons close by and deliver them without having to go too far. And, from how prolific her drinking was, there should be a shop selling alcoholic beverages close by.

Loki needed a window. But, casting his mind back, it was doubtful he would find one. No windows, not in the passages, not in his corridor cell and not in the armoury or mess hall.

Pressure on his shoulder, and Loki twisted around, shoved it off, only to see Moth’s concerned, green face. “She is wrong about you,” They said with conviction, then the somber expression morphed into something more friendly. “Guard is here.”

“Well,” Loki shook himself from his thoughts. “Lets not keep it waiting.”

They walked across the armoury, weaving through the crowd of weapon-bearing gladiators. It was odd, to think this had become at least somewhat normal.

When they arrived at the door, the armoured being’s shoulders were tense and it made a terse gesture at the two late arrivals. Hon Dör glowered at them behind her mask - the only way to tell was by how his skin prickled under what had to be an intense scowl.

“Did you have fun chatting with the Valkyrie?” She hissed angrily, but Loki froze.

“ _V_ _alkyrie_?!” He yelped.

Hon Dör stared. “Yes, the woman who was delivering weapons. Are you sure your society's prejudices aren’t correct? You're being awfully slow."

Loki pointedly ignored the last part. “She’s a _Valkyrie_? Scrapper 142.”

“I know nothing about _a_ Valkyrie, but that is what she was named by your ‘dark elf’ friend.”

‘Valkyrja’, the Dokkalf would have called her, using the old tongue. It was a useless piece of knowledge and he dismissed it, didn’t reply, just walked and thought. Thought hard.

A Valkyrie on Sakaar… It made sense - her Asgardian armour and idiocy and general not-likable-ness.

But it didn’t matter, he quickly came to realise. Other than that she must be a fearsome warrior, this did not affect him or his plans. At least he now knew he had been right not to underestimate her, drunk or not.

“-uke? _Luke_?” Hon Dör was saying, exasperated, and he came back to reality.

“What?” He said sharply, glanced down at her.

She eyed him for a moment. “Who is she?”

He thought that over for a second, then shrugged. “An old warrior, but it doesn’t matter.”

After continuing to watch him, she seemed to believe him and nodded, turned back to looking straight ahead.

  
  


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Loki ate and followed Moth in a daze, mind whirring. If only he could find a way to look outside, he might be able to see where 142 entered the building, where she left her ship and where she picked up the weapons. If he knew the entrance to the servant corridors, he could predict the paths it took to arrive just outside the armoury door. Growing up in a purpose-built palace would eventually be useful, it seemed.

And then they were waiting in the ring’s holding cell once again.

It was the same blank walls, scrawled with the occasional circles and graffiti, just like the two other times he had been forced in here.

Calmly, he checked his equipment, tightened the straps on his vambraces and was ready.

The three waited in silence, patiently, for the doors to slowly grind open. When they did, Loki held up his arms to ward off the light and squinted until the arena began to appear from bright white.

Across the ring was another group of three, pandering to the crowd with various flashy tricks with their weapons. One even fired off a few rounds, which resulted in a screaming audience and Loki’s rolled eyes. Wasting ammunition - more inexperienced idiots. He could almost hear Odin scolding him for wasting well-made arrows with his ‘split-it-in-half’ trick, performed to make Thor laugh and the Warriors Three jealous. He shook the memories away and ignored the sharp twist in his chest.

Unlike usual, the opposing team didn’t charge, and instead swaggered slowly across the brightly coloured gravel. Which left them with the responsibility of crossing the distance, as to swiftly get this encounter over with.

“Luke,” Hon Dör said under her breath as she gripped her spear in both hands. The announcer’s booming voice, spouting drivel, nearly drowned her out.

He glanced down at her, then back to the slowly approaching enemy. “One has an automatic rifle, another a club and the last wields a sword,” He cocked his head and squinted, but couldn’t make anything else out.

Moth nodded, hefted their shield with a grunt and started forwards at a jog and Hon Dör followed suit, her legs a blur to keep up with the green creature’s longer strides. Loki grimaced, but unsheathed his rapier and started to run across the ring. At least he would know if his endless exercise had done any good.

They thundered across the gravel, kicking up dust and the crowd roared. Across from them, their opponents stopped, readying themselves.

Loki pulled in a breath and heaved it out, pushed his legs faster. Reached down and fished out a throwing knife, held it for a moment then let it fly. Bullets were already soaring towards him, as if in slow motion. He swayed out of their path, felt puffs of air across his face and neck where they missed by centimetres. Looked up again and grinned to see his knife hilt sticking from the neck of an opponent, gurgling and jerking, its sword slipped from its fingers as the body keeled over onto the gravel.

The crowd screamed and the announcer was louder than ever. Loki winced, but there was no time to worry for his abused ears. At the sight of their dead comrade, the remaining two were sprinting the last of the distance, one shooting round after round. Some bounced uselessly from Moth’s great shield, Hon Dör slid under the ones directed her way and Loki twisted from the path of the last few. Just as the two sides clashed together in the middle of the arena, the automatic rifle was clicking on an empty chamber.

Before him was the one with a club. It was heavily armoured and muscle-bound. The moment he was in range, a hefty wooden cudgel swung at him from the side. Blocking it would break his rapier and he was moving too fast to change direction with how weak his muscles still were. So, he leapt as high as he could, dodging the swing and promptly barrelled into the creature’s chestplate, sending the column of meat and metal toppling over. He landed roughly and the air in his lungs burst out through his mouth, he struggled to breathe, but righted himself. After a moment, air rushed back into his lungs and Loki brought up his rapier to-

Force smashed into his back and suddenly he was in the air, tumbling head over heels. As he revolved, he caught glimpses of the ground below - the club-wielder now stood, outstretched after its impressive blow. Moth charging it with a roar that he could barely hear past the whistle of wind in his ears. Hon Dör trading blows with the other opponent, now swinging its gun as a club.

Then he could see over the walls of the stadium, over the heads of the endless sea of screaming spectators. A familiar ship glinted and his eyes widened. He could only see a small part of it, but those large gun-pillars were stuck in his memory. At that moment, he began plummeting back down, but he had the information he needed.

Loki pushed the panic from falling away, glowered down at the rapidly approaching ground, daring it to harm him. Now would be a good time for that instinctive seiðr to kick in, he thought. When it resolutely did not, he grimaced and braced for impact.

Crashed into the floor, rolled and came to a stop. Loki breathed rapidly, shoved images of the Void away and stood, then winced. His ribs - one or two were broken. It was a miracle he wasn’t coughing up blood and he huffed out a sigh of relief, then shoved himself upright, biting back a hiss of pain.

Moth was glancing his way distractedly and Loki waved a hand as he wobbled to his feet. They didn’t seem convinced, but then the muscled opponent was shoving Moth, sending them stumbling backwards. Apparently, the creature’s surprising strength wasn’t enough to topple them. Loki grinned nastily and another throwing knife was in hand, then leaving his grasp with barely a thought.

It spun through the air effortlessly, then dug into the side of its neck, a killing blow. Unfortunately, it seemed the extreme strength wasn’t everything odd about it, and the blade was yanked out and thrown aside within moments.

But, it was enough time for Moth to bring up their shield, press their shoulder into it and fire. The beam of brilliant light again, and Loki hissed, covering his sensitive eyes. It was gone again in moments, and when he peeked out, all that remained of the creature was its legs, cut off just above the knee and dribbling blood from the stumps. Loki raised an eyebrow and glanced at the shield warily. He had no doubt that it must be rather powerful to do such damage, when even one of his knives, thrown accurately and with enough force to pierce all manner of thick armour, had seemed to only slow it down.

Somewhere behind them, another gargling scream and thump, then Hon Dör’s voice. “Luke?”

“I’m fine,” He said, rubbing his side carefully. It would take a few hours to heal, but he had suffered far worse, at the hands of far worse. There were more important things to think of than his injured side, and Loki didn’t speak a word throughout the lengthy process of making their way back to the corridor cell. Ignored how Moth and Hon Dör spoke - about what, he didn’t care to know. The only topic he had the attention for was what he had just learnt.

The exit was close - _very_ close. Scrapper 142’s ship had been parked pretty much right outside. So, that meant the castle or palace or skyscraper, whatever this building was supposed to be, had been built for the exact purpose it held today. Which meant the servant’s passages _should_ be very direct and functional in it.

Memories of skulking around Asgard popped into mind, giggling quietly as he and Thor outsmarted their caretakers and teachers to go out exploring. How, as he grew older, those expeditions provided the knowledge for him to move completely unseen throughout his home. Later still, exploring another castle, walking down winding paths which would halt abruptly in a wall - a repurposed building. Unlike the one he was currently in. Probably.

But the guess was better than nothing and, by the time they were sitting back down in the corridor, a plan was already solidifying in Loki’s mind.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the quality of writing has been going a bit downhill for this chapter and the previous one. Please say if you've also noticed it; I'm always up for constructive criticism :)
> 
> The next chapters get better!
> 
> Also yeah plot.


	7. Escape

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Loki went over it in his head multiple times, deliberating and plotting as many eventualities as he could imagine. Should he explain to his cellmates? Having allies during an escape was a good strategy, and it wasn’t as if they were so brainwashed they would try to stop him. Probably.

So, with that decided he came to a halt from the usual endless laps of the never-ending corridor. To his left, Loki’s two teammates sat, propped up against the worse-for-wear wall. Hon Dör appeared to be sleeping, but it was hard to tell with her ever-present mask, and he was almost certain she could twiddle her thumbs like that whilst asleep. Moth, however, had a hung open mouth and was snoring in that soft, near purr they had. Loki stared for a moment and his neck twinged with sympathy.

“I need to talk to you,” He said, and then louder when they refused to wake or, in Hon Dör’s case, ignored him. Eventually, Moth twitched their neck out of the broken-looking position it had been in. Finally, some signs of life.

“You’re pregnant?” Hon Dör muttered, void of the slurring which normally gave away someone had only recently awoken. Moth straightened slowly, rubbing at their eyes.

Loki rolled his eyes and sat opposite the two, leant back against the wall, allowing his aching legs to rest. “I know a way to escape.”

That put an end to her sarcasm. Instead, they were identically shocked - body stiff and, in Moth’s case, eyes wide.

“You’re joking,” Hon Dör replied after a few moments. Then she laughed, forced and too loud. “Funny.”

Loki felt his eyebrows attempt to merge with his hairline. “I’m not.”

Moth laid a hand gently on Hon Dör’s knee and her mouth snapped shut behind her mask, undoubtedly about to inform him of how wrong he was. “You’re sure?” They asked.

“Yes,” Loki said, expression as trustworthy as he could make it.

“Okay.”

Silence as the two processed what he had said. He would have reacted the same way if someone thought they could break out of Asgard’s dungeon, so he just sat and waited.

Eventually, Hon Dör spoke again. “You are _certain_?”

Loki couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes and the masked woman tensed in response. “Absolutely,” He replied.

Both watched him quietly, studying his expression. Not that it would give them anything, but Loki understood the effort. Eventually, Hon Dör’s shoulders relaxed and she dipped her head at him in a small nod.

“Do you have a plan?”

Loki smirked. “How low do you think of me to ask that?” He said, but with no force to it.

Moth leant forwards and fixed him with an unshakable stare. “Tell us.”

And he did.

It took some explaining, but, thankfully, his cellmates weren’t insipid.

When Loki had been launched into the air like an undignified doll earlier that day, he had seen the Valkyrie’s ship docked rather haphazardly on a jutting out slab of metal. The same sort as where they had landed when he was brought to this hell-hole.

It had been, from what little was visible, rather close to both the arena and where he guessed the armoury to be. And, since the Scrapper had been on a delivery errand, she would have set down as close to the entrance as possible, meaning that the exit from the tower was very close by. And then his knowledge of purpose-built castles came into use. Servant corridors were made to be discreet and minimise travel time. Therefore, the particular pathway Valkyrie had used must have had an entrance close to, if not in the armoury, which would then lead directly to a (hopefully) unguarded exit.

Once he had explained, Moth simply accepted his logic, but Hon Dör was giving him a _look_ from behind her mask, he could somehow tell.

“That’s convoluted,” She said. “How do you know you’ve predicted correctly?”

Loki sighed. “I won’t till I try,” He replied and ran a hand through his hair, absent-mindedly chewed at his knuckle. If it didn’t work and he was captured… The Grandmaster was genuinely quite terrifying and he didn’t want to find out what the tyrant did to attempted escapees.

Silence descended after that. The Prince rested, already exhausted from fighting and his legs trembled from the laps he had just run. Opposite him, Moth and Hon Dör seemed to be thinking, perhaps deciding whether or not to sell him out. Would they be rewarded when they did?

“ _We_ won’t till _we_ try,” Moth spoke up, interrupting his train of thought.

Loki blinked at the dimwit. “Not everyone talks of themself as if they are multiple people,” He scowled - being corrected on his grammar by someone who so clearly lacked even the ability to _spell_ rankled him.

Hon Dör huffed a short laugh. “You are unbelievably stupid.”

Brilliant, now she was making fun of him as well. Just what he deserved for thinking these imbeciles would know a decent idea when they heard one. Escaping by himself was sounding better by the minute. “Please, tell me your _ingenious_ plan to get out of here?” He hissed before he could stop himself, the words spilling from his mouth.

Before Hon Dör could retort, Moth cut her off. “Luke,” They said in a calm voice, expression relaxed but with a slight tilt up at the corners of their mouth. “We are coming with you.”

Retorts died away behind his lips and Loki blinked. “Oh,” He said after a moment. Then promptly recovered, “Good! I’d be questioning your sanity if you weren’t.” He had to be getting soft for such a small thing to throw him visibly.

With that, awkward silence reigned and Loki felt his lids slowly beginning to droop as his muscles relaxed.

  
  


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It took days for the opportunity to present itself.

Days in which Loki ran his laps, improving all the while - he had built up nearly all the muscle he had lost to Asgard’s dungeon in barely a week, which was incredible. And left him feeling less like a walking twig and more able to do what undoubtedly would need doing. Namely, unleash his inner Thor in the absence of his seiðr to help him find out what had happened to the aforementioned Asgardian.

But, the guard arrived and they trailed along after to the armoury once again, hopefully for the last time.

Loki glanced behind him and made a point of scowling when Moth nodded reassuringly. If his magic wasn’t locked away, he would have certainly caused irreparable harm to the green creature. Instead, he huffed and turned back round to study the walls, doorway, everything. He wasn’t hoping for much - if the servant’s entrance was obvious, he wouldn’t have needed Scrapper 142 to give it away.

Nothing had changed since the first time he had been here. A subtle door or conveniently placed wall covering hadn’t manifested now that he knew there was a hidden escape route. Loki entered the armoury, and the trio split, dissolving into the hectic crowd of gladiators. With practiced ease, he navigated to the weapons rack and selected his usual weapons - the rapier, throwing knives, twin daggers and hunting knife. He strapped them on, double checked the buckles and then set out again for the exit. After being cornered by that Dokkalf, he didn’t particularly want to hang around, especially since he had fought in the ring and was no longer protected by the odd customs of this even odder place.

Just as Loki was heading to the exit, he saw the Valkyrie from the corner of his eye.

She held the same bag, bristling with blades. His hand reached up and brushed the ‘obedience disk’ still clinging to his temple and felt the anger, usually a tight knot in his stomach, rise up and settle in the base of his throat.

She had sold him like livestock to a madman. A madman who had wanted certain acts to be performed, but sent him to fight like an animal on a _whim_.

An outburst would not solve anything and Loki glanced about, careful to continue on his previous course to the exit. Moth was already staring in the Scrapper’s direction, making their way over to where Hon Dör’s blank mask was visible through a gap in the crowd.

Hopefully, his cellmates would remember to stick to the plan, but there was nothing he could do now - everything had been explained to the best of his abilities.

Loki continued walking to the exit as he had been before noticing the Valkyrie. If he slowed down too much, she may realise something was off. He himself had caught many wannabe assassins and thieves simply because they had quickened or slowed their pace upon seeing him; not an easy thing to spot, but glaringly obvious once you knew what you were looking for.

So he continued onwards, one eye on Scrapper 142 and the other waiting for Moth and Hon Dör to make a rookie mistake. Thankfully, they didn’t and soon all three were standing together by the exit, apparently waiting for their guard to collect them.

If they were whisked off to the mess hall before the Valkyrie left and revealed the exit, it wouldn’t be a great loss. Yes, every extra second on Sakaar was a second he could have used journeying to Asgard, finding out _what happened_. But, if it wasn’t to be, Loki would bide his time and wait for a more opportune moment. A successful escape was infinitely better than a half-arsed one which ended in heads rolling.

Moth and Hon Dör were talking softly and the Prince nodded along at all the right times. Occasionally he looked over at Scrapper 142, for barely a moment to note her position, then back to pretending to be engaged in conversation.

Metal clanked onto the floor, followed by the duller thumps of armour and softer weapons. Scraping as they were picked up and an increase in the clanking of boots as the gladiators swiftly cleared the pile.

Loki glanced over. The Valkyrie held an empty duffel bag, shaking it upside down to dislodge any remaining items. Then it slung over her shoulder and the hip flask from last time made an appearance and she took a swig, adam's apple bobbing. He turned back to their conversation, nodding absent-mindedly.

Footsteps, scraping and stumbling, passed them. A strong stench of alcohol followed and the Valkyrie appeared in his line of sight. She was still drinking from the small flask and, without a backwards glance, disappeared through the door.

Moth’s overly-muscular elbow found its way to Loki’s side and poked him in the ribs, as if warning him. The Prince glowered down at them; “You’re not the only one possessing eyes.”

They shrugged, as if to say ‘just in case’ and then they were walking confidently towards the door, appearing to have just seen their guard.

Loki glanced down at Hon Dör, who had started after the green creature. He ran a hand through his hair and followed after a beat - at least something interesting would happen.

The three walked together to the exit, Scrapper 142 disappearing down the hallway ahead of them until she came to a blank section of wall. With a quick flick of her fingers, a silver oblong was held a few centimetres from the surface until a low, barely audible _beep_ sounded. Just as she was stuffing the fob into one of her undoubtedly many pockets, a crack appeared on the blank white, spreading down in a straight line as it grew wider and wider. In moments, it was big enough and the Valkyrie impatiently shimmied through, flask clanging on the metal walls.

Hon Dör made to jog forwards and slip in before the entrance could close once more, but Loki held out an arm to stop her. A hand batted him away, but she stayed put with a grumble.

If they were too quick, they could stumble in to find Valkyrie still there, which would _not_ be good for their longevity, let alone the escape attempt. Loki’s fingers went back up to the disk at his temple - he would need a way to remove it once leaving this forsaken planet.

Waiting in tense silence, Loki watched as the doorway widened, widened, then held for a few seconds. This time, Moth made a move forward, but he shook his head minutely. A few more moments and he set off, moving as quickly and as quietly as possible, until he made it to the slowly closing crack in the wall.

Peering inside, blank white gave way to grey and stained; evidently kept in a state of ill repair.

Thankfully, the Valkyrie was nowhere in sight.

Loki sucked in a breath and quickly strode through, almost expecting an alarm to go off. When none did, he swiftly stepped aside. The masked woman was next through, her small frame easily slipping in. She glanced about, but said nothing and moved away immediately for Moth to enter. Their bulky form only just managed to make it, but there was no worry on their face.

However, that quickly changed when Hon Dör went stiff as a board, shoulders up to where her ears were hidden under the mask and hair.

Confused, Loki glanced back when he heard her involuntary gasp and peered through the closing doorway.

In the corridor they had just entered from, there was a person of similar height and build to Hon Dör being escorted by a guard.

Before he or Moth could react, the small, masked woman was running through the gap without a backwards glance, gloved hands holding the spear before her, as if about to impale the guard. Loki’s eyes felt as if they were about to pop out of his skull at the sheer idiocy she had just displayed and he backed up against the wall right next to the closing entrance, in a bid not to be seen by the guard.

Moth stood in the entrance, brown eyes confused as they glanced between Hon Dör and Loki.

“Hide,” He hissed as quietly as he could whilst still keeping the commanding malice in his voice. “You _eejit_ that bastard will see you!”

But, apparently they were as stupid as they were green and Moth held open the closing door as they squeezed back through. And Loki was alone inside the servant’s passage, gobsmacked at the ineptitude he had managed to become surrounded in. He had previously thought that nothing could top the Stooges Three, Sif and his brother, but he had to admit to himself that this was setting a new record.

As he waited for the crack to close, he could hear what might have been a fight occurring outside.

An unfamiliar, deep voice called out in an unknown language with a lilt up at the end, as if in recognition or question. Moth was talking loudly, calmly and the clang of metal on metal rang throughout the corridor.

Perhaps he should go out to help them.

Obviously, whoever that person was, they were important to Hon Dör in one way or another. And, if they subdued the guard, maybe there was still a chance of escape…?

But that was a ridiculous idea and he squashed it into the dark corners of his mind like such a thought deserved. The wall closed next to him, muffling sounds of fighting and angry yelling, he sighed with relief.

If those two couldn’t stick to a very simple plan, then it was their fault for being idiots and he was in no way to blame. Even if they had saved his life… But there was no time for the - almost _remorse_ \- which settled in his stomach. With a last glance at the entrance to ensure it was closed, Loki turned away from it to start down the corridor.

The floor was scuffed and stained, the walls had suffered a similar fate and lights hung from the ceiling by swaying wires. Evidently, the Grandmaster cared little for whatever bootlickers served him.

Outside, the cacophony of shouting and fighting had died down so that the only sound was his own breathing and heartbeat. Not even Valkyrie’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, which was probably a good thing. Except that it could mean she was waiting somewhere along the way.

Loki pulled in a deep breath, felt the stuffy air fill his lungs. Slowly let it back out. His knuckle had found its way into his mouth again. The Prince pulled it away after a moment and straightened up. He needed to go.

Every second waiting was wasted and he set off with that in mind, one step after another.

Above, lightbulbs swayed and occasionally flickered, making the already ominous passage even more so. He walked straight on, no branching corridors opened up about him and there was no end in sight.

Loki strode on. His footsteps echoed quietly and then there was a subtle change in how the sound bounced back to him; more open. A wall appeared out of the dark ahead of him. He approached, slower now. As he grew closer, small scratches and imperfections in the metal became visible.

Loki stood before it and slowly reached out a hand until his fingertips brushed it. Sensing his movement, the solid wall split beneath his touch. No need to guard the servant’s exit, apparently. If such an inadequacy had been displayed by any of Asgard’s architects, they would have been fired and possibly even charged with treason.

Thankfully for him, the Grandmaster didn’t have such high standards and the door opened, allowing light from outside to spill in.

And then skull-splitting pain seemed to set fire to the side of Loki’s face, and he collapsed into darkness.

  
  


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The first thing he knew when light re-entered the world was that he was outside.

Wind was blowing against his face and the sky spread out above him, filled with grey, stormy clouds. He was lying on unforgiving metal and light was glaring into his eyes.

A shadow fell and Loki blinked, adjusted and suddenly he could make out a woman’s face.

The Valkyrie's face.

“Oh. _Shit_.”

Her lips crinkled upwards. “Yeah, ‘oh shit’.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I was just leaving.”

“So you _were_ pretending to be brain-dead,” She grinned down at him, teeth showing and face paint distorting from how her skin stretched. “I thought you were playing it up.”

Loki wrinkled his nose in response. “It worked,” He replied with a mocking smirk. “Besides, I thought the Valkyries weren’t all too smart. Isn’t that why you all died gruesome deaths?”

She froze. Her mouth opened to speak, but clicked back closed. Instead, a fist slammed into his nose, then his cheek, then his stomach in quick succession.

He gasped for breath and rolled away in an attempt to dodge the sudden attacks, but the Valkyrie just grabbed him by the front of his tunic, pulled him round to face her. Cool liquid trickled down his face, dripped off his chin.

“Don’t you _fucking talk about that_ ,” Scrapper 142 snarled in his face, spittle flying and eyes narrowed into slits.

Loki pulled in a gasp of air, then spat a gob of saliva mixed with blood onto her face. The Valkyrie recoiled, reached up to wipe it away in disgust, and he shot up a hand, latched onto her forehead. Dug in his nails, long and sharp after so long without care and he flung her away.

A dull thump as her body hit the floor and rolled, giving him just enough time to stumble to his feet. Without his seiðr, fighting a Valkyrie was most certainly not something he wanted to do - even Thor would have hesitated. The battle maidens had been in bedtime stories and songs of the Great Conquest since before he was even born. To face one in such a weakened state would be suicide, and Loki had already tried and failed at that. It would be the height of irony if, the one time he didn’t have a burning urge to leap from the highest tower, he was murdered by this bitch.

How the Norns must love him.

Already, she was getting to her feet, spitting insults and stinking of alcohol. Loki took one look at the unadulterated fury on her face and any resolve he had to escape that day fled him. Instead, he turned tail, sprinted at the wall he had entered through.

It was closed.

The Norns probably cherished him, if only for his entertainment value.

Loki banged his hands against the metal, but it remained unresponsive. Glanced over his shoulder to see that the Valkyrie had risen to her feet, blood trickling from the marks his nails had left on her face. Her expression nearly surpassed Odin at his most furious and Loki hit the wall again.

He was going to die in agony if she caught him, of that there was no doubt. A head of gold hair, laughing blue eyes and a warrior’s stance entered his mind's eye. Would he never see Thor again?

Then something in him seemed to _pop_ , burst and power shot through his fingers, into the metal and it slid open, he fell through. The Prince gasped, stumbled forwards a step into the corridor and the wall closed swiftly behind him, sudden power fleeing back to wherever it had come from.

He stared at his hands for a second, but then a loud _clang_ on the door behind him sent him sprinting forward, fast as he could despite the sudden exhaustion which overtook him. Whatever he had just done, it felt as if someone had sucked the very life-force from him.

After only a few pounding steps, his face seemed to ignite once again and Loki’s hand came up to hold it, muscles seizing as electricity shot through him. But this time, he had been expecting it. Having Thor as a brother had led to being struck by lightning quite a few times, and Loki just clenched his jaw and straightened out of the hunch he had slipped into. Continued running after a few moments. It hurt. It hurt a lot. But being caught by the furious Asgardian he could hear screaming curses behind him would hurt far more.

With one hand clutching his temple and the other trailing on the wall, in case his trembling legs collapsed, he ran under the swinging and flickering lights. Out of the dark before him, the distant door appeared and he stumbled up to it, planted his palm against it. Behind him, pounding footsteps.

The wall split down the middle and Loki squeezed through as soon as he could, chest and back scraping both sides as they slid slowly open. Sprinted down the hallway, still clutching at his head, muscles twitching.

Once he got his magic back, that Valkyrie was going to eat her own entrails.

Feet pounding, he sped down the corridor, pushed past a guard and kicked open the door to the mess hall, only to stop short.

Whilst he had been fleeing with his tail between his legs, he had completely forgotten that Hon Dör and Moth had been in a predicament of their own when he left them.

The masked woman stood atop a table, yelling at the top of her lungs in a foreign tongue, spear poised and ready to strike at the creature she had seen in the hallway. He was screaming back in a surprisingly deep voice for his size, gesticulating furiously with the odd weapon he held. Both wore the exact same mask; the only way to tell them apart was how Hon Dör’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but the new one wore his down, whipping about his head.

Loki slid to a halt until he heard furious feet stomping behind him. At which point he dove inside and slammed the doors shut, grabbed the nearest bench and yanked it out from under whoever was sitting upon it and slung it across the entrance.

Whilst his back was to the mess hall, pandemonium broke loose with a flurry of screeched words, followed by the furious clang of metal on metal.

Before him, the double doors bowed with the force at which Scrapper 142 barreled into them and Loki jumped back, hands flying to his belt, resting on his twin daggers. As if they would help him in a magic-less fight against the Valkyrie.

Another resounding _bang_ on the doors and they shook, but the bench held and he let out a soft breath. At least he probably had another five minutes until she broke through and brutally murdered him.

He turned back to the more immediate threat, which was the room filled with bloodthirsty gladiators he was now trapped in with. And not to mention the raging fight Hon Dör had undoubtedly started, which everyone else had somehow become involved in.

Bodies were literally flying through the air, tumbling head over heels and crashing down, rolling to a stop. At the centre of the chaos, Hon Dör stood atop the only table which wasn’t on its side or smashed to smithereens. She was twirling, lashing out at anyone who came near with her spear, using her small size and incredible speed to her advantage. Opposite her was the being who had set this all off, hair whipping back and forth in a frenzy. They were fighting viciously - everyone else as well as each other.

Moth was the only person standing still, a look of confusion evident on their face and Loki felt a flash of contempt for the green idiot.

But even as he was assessing what sort of Hel had opened up before him, the fight seemed to be drawing to a close. Hon Dör was suddenly gasping for breath, small form hunching over and large hands reached up, grabbed her in a tight grip - too tight not to hurt.

Another flash, but this time of grim pleasure. It served the idiot right for being insipid enough to completely abandon the plan! If he had had them both with him when he encountered the Valkyrie, he would be already _long gone_ from here!

Loki snarled angrily, mind made up that whatever was going on, it was just deserts.

And then Moth’s confused brown eyes found him from across the room. For a moment, the fury persisted, but then the creature was making their way over, yelling at the top of their considerable lungs. “Masked woman will die!” They were saying as they approached Loki.

“And why, exactly, should I care?” He hissed back, shoulders hunched up and hands still gripping the hilts of his daggers.

Moth blinked and looked up at him, as if confused by such a simple thing. By Asgard he _hated_ naïve idiots. “New gladiators are safe. She is fighting one. She will be killed for it.”

“That’s my problem now?” Loki raised an eyebrow, trying to calm his still-racing heart. No matter how much exercise he did, sprinting as fast as he could from certain and agonising death would never be pleasant. “She got herself into this.”

“You owe a life debt,” They said, as if that explained it all away. And unfortunately, it seemed that there weren’t as many cultural differences between them as he had hoped. Equally as unfortunately, the tiny masked creature had, indeed, saved his life. That bout with the Dokkalf had been markedly unpleasant. Remorse from earlier, partially forgotten, decided now was the time for a rather strong comeback and he snarled.

“I am going to regret this,” Loki scowled, running a hand through his hair.

Moth rolled their shoulders, more of a stretch than a shrug. “We thank you,” They said somberly.

“Thank me if the tiny idiot gets out of this alive,” He muttered back.

Up on the table, Hon Dör was desperately weaving away from attacks in every direction, clothing already torn and mask riddled with cracks. Loki wracked his brain for what he could possibly do to stop it. Fighting an entire room of gladiators was not the best idea, especially with his legs already about to give way beneath him.

Instead, Loki grabbed a nearby, turned-over table and righted it, scrambled on top.

Even as he began to straighten out, Frigga’s face was layered over the world about him, like how she would lock eyes with him when trying to dissuade her son from whatever recent bout of mischief he was planning.

**Please, don’t. There are other ways!**

Loki couldn’t see any of her ‘other ways’. If there was one, it didn’t include freeing his idiot teammate from her current predicament and despite how much he wanted to leave her to her well-deserved fate… He had acquiesced to Moth; indirectly said he would help. And, whilst it was like getting blood from a stone, once Loki agreed to do something, he became as stubborn and mule-headed as his brother. No matter that he had no idea _why_ he had agreed in the first place.

**You will** **_die_** **!!**

He hadn’t expected to live very long, anyway.

Loki sucked in a breath, straightened his shoulders and locked his path in.

“I am challenging the Champion!” He roared, loud and carrying. Below him, the fighting stopped and Hon Dör wriggled free, clothing in tatters.

The crowd all turned to stare up at him, completely forgetting the fight they had been so caught up in, allowing their target to slip away.

And then there was an armoured hand wrapped about his bicep, pulling him away and out the mess hall.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, is that plot I smell?
> 
> Tune in week after next for a double episode :)
> 
> Will upload on Christmas (25th December) instead of Sunday cus I'm extra like that I guess >:) but also I'm excited for it y'all gonna love it! Maybe.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	8. Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Loki automatically clawed at the fingers clamped about his arm, immovable as iron and about as comfortable. Moth was staring at him with a dumbfounded expression firmly in place and he wanted to yell at the idiot - ‘I didn’t think I’d do something so stupid either!’ Only a squeak came out. An absolutely mortifying squeak and he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn, as if attempting to set his hair on fire.

“The fuck was _that_? Are you suicidal?!” Hon Dör said under her breath and shoulders tense. She had appeared from the fray next to Moth and favoured her left leg. Loki was asking himself the same thing. Evidently, falling from the rainbow bridge hadn’t been enough for his self-destructive subconscious.

But there was no time to retort that he had everything perfectly how he wanted it and that his master-plan was most _certainly_ real and most _certainly_ implemented. Of _course_ he had been plotting this since Odin had chucked him into Asgard’s dungeon many months ago.

Instead, Loki was dragged away by the guard with his blustering excuses still swimming up and down his throat, but it was too tight for them to escape. Like the hand on his arm was actually sunk through the flesh of his neck and clenched about his trachea.

Moth’s large brown eyes and Hon Dör’s blank mask followed him to the exit, where the doors were flung open and they disappeared from sight.

Quick march, through vaguely familiar corridors. He didn’t bother digging in his heels - such behaviour was undignified and would expend valuable energy.

At first there were no crowds, then the halls were lined with the occasional person and then they were suddenly wading through bodies, all casting him sideways glances or openly staring. Evidently some had been watching the recent spectacle through those cameras in the mess and were eying him up. Would bets be placed on how quickly he would be squashed by this Champion of theirs?

Loki mentally shook himself. It did not matter what these insignificant imbeciles thought. He did not care. As long as he managed to get off of this forsaken, primitive rock, then he could make it to Asgard and Thor and find out what in the Nine Realms had happened. Because the Crown Prince had not yet tumbled through one of the portals - of that, Loki was certain. The Thunder God’s presence always made a mark in the fabric of seiðr. If he could sense it was another matter.

Unless what tumbled through one of the portals was a corpse.

A corpse with staring, glazed over blue eyes. No longer sparkling and vibrant and filled with life. But frozen still, looking out in one direction never to shift, glance over and crinkle at the edges. Like they had when spotting Loki out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a golden pillar in the palace and gesturing for quiet, so that some trick or another could be performed.

Cold on his cheeks and Loki blinked. The skin under his eyes felt sore and he reached up to touch them, felt frost on his fingertips, barely covering the puffy skin.

No; he would not allow his brother to die.

Because as much as it hurt less for him to think of Thor as a stranger and an enemy… The thin sheen of ice which had formed on his face said otherwise, and it didn’t lie. Mostly, though, he was tired. So tired. Not just from this whole escapade, but from worry. Worry, worry, _worry_. He felt like an old, world-weary caretaker. Because he had been trying to convince himself that Asgard and Thor and all the rest of it was alright, that they would have vanquished Hela the moment she arrived. But at the same time with the absolute certainty that he _didn’t care_. That this was all mere curiosity.

Mere curiosity did not make him _cry_ like some ergi!

So many of his excuses for what he’d done were tied up in refuting his family. Telling his mother that she wasn-

About his arm, the fist tightened painfully and Loki bit back a gasp, rubbed his eyes and glowered at the guard by his side. Banished any thought of Asgard to the depths of his mind. When - _when_ not if - he saw Thor again, they could work this out. Work their way through whatever _this_ was. Because now that the panic and terror and exhaustion had worn away the mental walls keeping out thoughts of what _might_ have, _could_ have, _will_ have happened… The prospect of never seeing Thor again was far worse than all of his memories of inadequacy and being ignored and not being _good enough_. They still hurt. But not as much as that momentary, imagined and blurry image of a golden-haired, blue-eyed body lying lifeless and battered.

He tried to shift his thoughts away from Thor again and succeeded this time. Before him was a double-door entrance, golden and gilded and looking rather convinced of its own importance. Loki focused on that. On how everything here was so self obsessed and how nothing quaked in his presence or from knowledge of what Hela might be, could be, _would be_ doing in Asgard at that very momen-

No. Loki shut the thought down and scowled at his own weakness. Thinking about that was not a good idea. He had enough to deal with. A new mental blockade was erected, nowhere near as strong as the previous had been, but enough to stop himself from obsessing over it, then collapsing into a panicked heap on the floor. Not the most excellent of battle strategies.

Instead, he glowered at the looming double doors with as much force and anger as he could muster, studiously ignoring the ache in his legs.

Slowly, they swung in to reveal the same chaotic mess of a king’s hall as last time. But, there was more organisation to it this time. Each head was already turned towards him when the great slabs of metal finally opened fully. It was painfully obvious they were judging him. Eyes ran up and down his body, taking note of everything, laughing at the puffy red which undoubtedly ringed his eyes. He hoped they bet against him - making these bastards lose money would be rather satisfying.

For the second time, he stood opposite the Grandmaster.

Those eyes were still the same sort of dangerous warm as they had been when he first entered this hall. Promised to ignite a terrible blaze for little to no reason. Loki suppressed a shudder. Had he looked like that? At some point, he must have. After the Void had sunk its claws into him, twisted him to his anger. Hopefully it was gone, left him after all these years.

“Well, look at this!” The Grandmaster exclaimed. His arms came out, fingers spread as if to grab him and Loki controlled his flinch. If this creature ever touched him, he would flay his own skin. “Topaz, I owe you a few million,” He said to the side and the stout woman smirked. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

Then those eyes were back on him and Loki was too aware of it, as if prickling hot needles were pushing into his skin. “I never _imagined_ you’d challenge this quickly. This may, in fact, be a new record. Someone correct me?” Like they would. Bootlickers.

“Anyway!” He stood, springing up despite the grey hair. “You’ve challenged. You’re here, so, obviously, I think you’re good enough to put on a show.” The eyebrows waggled suggestively and Loki wanted to projectile vomit all over that expensive-looking coat.

With a flick of his hand, the guard led his prisoner over to a chair with ominous manacles attached to the armrests. Loki was forced into it and the iron bands at his wrists and feet snapped into place. A subtle tug revealed that there was absolutely no give to them. Perhaps he could have wriggled free, but it would have taken a few minutes of obvious yanking. Such a display would warrant the disk at his temple being activated and potentially lose him a chance for escape.

So, Loki sat still like a good little gladiator. He didn’t manage to curb his glower, but pretending to be a dimwit could wait for when he wasn’t surrounded by utter twats and their power-hungry despot.

Then the chair was rolling beneath him and Loki shifted in place as he was wheeled out to a side room. Unfortunately, the Grandmaster and some of his lackeys followed close behind. The new chamber was smaller than the hall behind him and walls lined with gleaming, sharp implements. Inside, an ancient, hunched over creature wielding a rotating set of blades.

Loki raised an eyebrow and grinned. “You severely underestimate me if you think some old man can be an effective torturer.”

“Oh, you misunderstand!” The Grandmaster held out his hands as if in surrender. “No, you must look the part if you are to fight the Champion.”

“You want to bloody me up before the bout has even started?” He hissed, outraged. It would be one thing to defeat a supposedly extremely powerful fighter at full strength, another whilst already weakened. Even further than Odin’s binding already left him.

A laugh. “No, no. You’re getting a haircut!”

Loki paled.

“A _what_?!”

“A haircut,” The bastard rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of them? Look like a lady out of some shampoo commercial and you’ve never heard of a _haircut_. Do you even have those where you’re from?”

And no more words were exchanged, because swirling blades in a maelstrom about his head. Loki could do nothing but hold stone-still as the familiar weight of his hair was shorn off.

When the device moved away, he felt cold. No tickling on the back of his neck and no stray strands waving in and out of view. Normally, he would only cut his hair with Thor - it had been the only way their mother could convince her troublesome Princes to do so. He hadn’t cut it since before the coronation, when the Jötnar had been led into Asgard.

Loki shook his head, pretended it was to dislodge the lingering pieces and they fell swiftly to the floor, a dark puddle at his feet. He blinked down at it and scowled all the harder. Tried to convince himself that this really didn’t matter. Such a stupid little thing to be upset over, even if the brother it reminded him of could be _dea-_

“Like it?” The Grandmaster asked. “We don’t want the crowd thinking that I let _any_ old pretty boy fight my Champion!”

He just blinked again at the hair, then shrugged and felt his face settle into a cold, unmoving mask. Perhaps simply escaping was no longer his only goal. This narcissistic, egotistical _fucktard_ had to die.

And he was being moved again, bustled through the crowd and into a new room, filled to the brim with higher-quality weapons and armour than he had seen previously. They were still rather pathetic looking compared to the work of Asgard, but a sight better than what he was already equipped with.

Loki was freed from the chair’s confines and he stood swiftly, brushed himself down and more raven strands swirled about him. Stepped up to the tables, arrayed against a wall and holding all manner of weapons. Ran a hand over them, feeling worn hilts and sharp blades and stiff leather.

At his back, the onlookers tittered like so many over-fed birds and he bristled. But he didn’t hesitate in picking out which blades to use and discarding the ones strapped to his shoulder and belt. Then stripped, tugged on a new pair of trousers and tunic, the same except that they were a better fit and less worn. Sewn spirals were rough against his fingers as he set the paper-thin leather down. Shrugged on a long overcoat which extended to a few inches above his ankles, but was light and cut out at the sides; very similar to the one he had conjured when Thor first freed him from Asgard’s dungeons to help fight against Malekith. The scrap of red cloth he’d been wearing as a half cape dangled in his grip above the table. He started to set it down, then quickly tied it onto his belt at the back where it hung down beneath the coat, like some sort of ridiculous butt-cape. His ears heated and Loki silently dared the bastards behind him to say anything.

And, after about fifteen minutes of deliberating, he was ready.

  
  


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Thankfully, the Grandmaster seemed eager to ‘get this show on the road’. Loki was hurried out of the hall, into the arms of a waiting guard and then escorted back down to his cell.

Now that he was due to fight the Champion, time seemed to fly past, each step a millisecond, as if the Norns had taken the film of his life and cut frames out. Within moments he was shoved into the familiar blank corridor, stretching into the distance in both directions.

Sat against the wall only a few metres from the door were Moth and Hon Dör, heads leant back and, in the green one’s case, with bruises scattered across their features. Loki silently stepped further in, new boots only making a soft padding sound against the hard metal surface. He made his way to the wall opposite his cellmates and slid down, sat against it.

Time slipped by.

Moth would twitch and turn every few minutes, the discoloured bruising pulling back until it was so faint he could barely see it, then was gone. The exact opposite, Hon Dör sat quietly and unmoving, not even twiddling her thumbs, with no visible wounds but a stiffness to her posture which suggested severe bruising.

Loki huffed out a sigh, confident that the others weren’t faking sleep this time around. He made to run a hand through his hair but pulled back at the unfamiliar sensation of sharp bristles against his fingers. Bit at a knuckle instead and stared at the blank floor.

Could he fight this Champion? Or perhaps the death he had been indifferent to not so long ago would finally claim him. Just when he had come to realise he had a brother and a home, needed to know what happened. The Norns had to get their kicks somewhere, and Loki was starting to think he was their version of reality television. Too much irony and coincidence; realising what he had seconds after losing it, or just in time to watch it die. Hopefully, nothing would happen to Thor. How he hoped.

Loki felt his head grow heavy and let it sink to his knees, resting against the knobbly bone. He hadn’t hoped like this - it was nearly a prayer - since he was very young. Only just learning to fight on unsteady legs with a too-large handle in hand and Odin before him, scowling, disappointed. If he could just see his dratted brother alright, the gnawing in his stomach would ease and the fog in his mind would dissipate.

Under Asgard, in the dungeons when no-one had come to see him and the very air had been torturous… But then someone had come. Maybe not for him, to save or help him, but Thor _had come_. And had saved him and helped him. It ripped away the walls he had placed between himself and the roiling thing which was the mess of what he felt for Asgard and her Royal family. Other walls had been constructed, quickly and ineffectively, far less permanent than ones the Void had helped him create. And he couldn’t properly box it all up again.

Anger and hate and all the rest of it was slipping away, through his fingers as he tried to keep hold of it. Left only bone-deep weariness. He wanted Thor and Asgard and his mother back. He wanted to get off this awful planet and to _talk_ . Not to apologise or grovel for acceptance, but everything to go back to the way it had been before that coronation. Even with how he had been excluded and laughed at; Thor hadn’t hated him. He had been Æsir. Frigga had been alive. Compared to now… It was _idyllic_.

Aching pain, lodged somewhere deep in his torso and Loki wrapped his arms about himself, pushed his knees into his eye sockets.

Asgard could be _gone_ and he couldn’t stop thinking about it anymore. It was more immediate now, with the battle looming within touching-distance, so immediate that he could be out in the ring, fighting for his freedom in minutes.

Those towering pillars and houses and the palace could be little more than rubble, brought low by Hela. Perhaps Odin was dead. Perhaps Thor was, too. Perhaps Hela had slain every single Æsir and he was the last remaining.

Alone.

At least as far as culture went, he would be the last, but as a race - extinct. Everyone he had ever known, who had known him. Dead and gone.

Loki felt his shoulders shaking and wrapped his arms tighter, metal of his armour digging into his stomach and thighs. Deep in his torso, the pain ached. He wanted to die all over again, but freedom and escape was so close, he could smell the familiar campfire smoke of Asgard.

A hand on his arm and Loki started, looked up.

Honey hair and sparkling eyes as Asgard’s deceased Queen leant over him, fingers gently over his bicep.

**You mourn me, my son?**

He blinked, slowly uncurled and bit down on his knuckle as he stared up into her face. “You and the rest of Asgard.”

She hummed in response and set herself down beside him, but never letting go. Loki let out a shuddering breath and the aching stabbed a little more, then seemed to ease.

**Don’t try to stop it, this pain. You shall be better for it.**

Loki leant his head back until it thumped softly against the wall and his eyes drifted shut for a moment, before opening again and resting on Frigga’s face, blurry and transparent at the edges. “I want it to stop,” He managed to say, a barely audible whisper, voice breaking. “I want to go home.”

**I would say that time heals all ills, but you must let yourself experience the ills first.**

“You want me to feel _this_?” He placed a palm against his sternum, almost without thinking, and pressed. As if his hurt was a physical wound which could be eased by staunching the blood flow. “It was better behind walls.”

**No, my sweet boy. This is letting out the infection. If you do not, it shall fester and only continue to grow as it has been these past years.**

Frigga shifted and leant against him. The hand let go, but encircled him instead of leaving completely. Loki heaved in a shaky breath and curled into the offering of a hug, head coming to rest against her barely-there shoulder as his own shook with the force of keeping his face free of tears. Or at least what passed for them.

**Now, my boy. You must sleep to keep your strength up.**

Loki felt his eyelids grow heavy and shut, the soft hands lowered him to the floor and faded away. He was tired, exhausted. Frost was forming on his face despite his efforts, but his shoulders no longer shook - the tears just slipped out, despite how drained he felt.

**I am so proud of you, my son.**

With those not-quite-words drifting through his mind, Loki fell asleep. Frost was on his cheeks, but also a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth at his mother’s words. It hurt, as he drifted off, but her pride softened the edge for a moment.

  
  


♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙

  
  


Loki woke to a green face far too close to his.

Eyes blinked open and teeth suddenly appeared, lips pulled up in a smile. He flinched back sharply and shoved at the creature looming over him, but it was not flung back, only stumbled.

Then he recognised them. Moth, not some creature. Loki huffed out a breath and scowled in an attempt to hide his relief. “Did anyone ever teach you manners?” He snapped, trying and failing to inject venom into his tone.

Hon Dör snorted. “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to challenge the Champion.”

“I stopped you from being ripped apart,” Loki shot back, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest.

She paused, shoulders tense, but spoke. “Thank you, I suppose,” Hon Dör said, quickly and nearly too quiet to be heard.

He smiled in response, all edges. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“You’re an arse,” She hissed, the cracks in her mask revealing narrowed eyes and lowered brows.

Moth’s large hand came between them, and they frowned, but without any force behind it. “Please calm down, Hon Dör. Luke.”

“I am _calm_ ,” She grumbled, but strode away.

They watched as Hon Dör sat down along the corridor, back turned and sighed, glanced down at Loki. “You said you wouldn’t snap at her.”

The Prince snorted. “And I’m supposed to care?” He replied. Inside him, the hollow ache from before falling asleep was still there. Like he had swallowed a large, sharp stone and it was sliding down his esophagus in spurts, scraping uncomfortably and too large to fit. He shuddered, automatically reached up and pressed the heel of his palm against his sternum to rub at it.

“Are you ready to fight the Champion?”

Loki heaved in a breath, let it out slowly. “I haven’t even seen it, how can I know?”

Moth subsided into silence, thinking. They slumped down to sit next to him with a sigh. “Try to stay alive, Luke.”

“I will,” He said, voice soft.

“Then you are ready.” Moth’s great hand came over, rested on Loki’s shoulder. At first, he tensed, almost shrugged it off, but stilled and let the touch comfort him. Once he got off Sakaar, none of this would matter, if it even did in the first place.

The two sat in companionable silence as they waited. Hon Dör came over after a while, sat on his other side, knee brushing against his thigh and they just sat together, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

And, inevitably, the door swung open. A guard stood in the entrance, armour spiked and far more intimidating than Loki had ever seen it, despite there being no change. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore how his ribs felt as if they were constricting, squashing his lungs in his chest.

It’s eyes weren’t visible, but Loki could feel them boring into him anyway. Judging him, perhaps laughing at this newest, pathetic challenger. Pride stung, the Prince pushed himself upright and strode towards the door, studiously ignoring that this meant battle was at hand. That he would be facing an incredibly powerful creature in a one versus one fight to the death. That his mother had warned him against it - whether she truly was Frigga or wishful thinking, Loki didn’t know. Hadn’t had the time to figure out.

And he was before the door, a metal-clad hand wrapped about his bicep and dragged out. One last glance back to see his cellmates staring after him, Hon Dör’s mask inscrutable and Moth’s face troubled.

Then he was out, dragged along behind the guard. Again, each step seemed far too fast, the Norns once more messing with the speed of how things passed, his heart hammered in his chest. To try and calm it, Loki automatically ran his hands over his armour, buckles, coat, weapons, the scrap of red fabric. It was in his fist once they reached the holding cell. Scratchy and reassuring against his fingertips as he was thrown in.

Loki sat on the bench, all the checks he could think of completed. His equipment was as ready as it would ever be.

Hands twisting in that red fabric. He could almost smell campfires, metal and honey - what distant memories told him Thor’s cape smelled of. When he was smaller, being bundled up in that warm sea of red cloth, carried like a baby. He remembered feeling indignant at the treatment, but Loki would give anything to swap positions with his younger self. He suppressed the smile at first, but then let it spread across his face. There was no one here to judge him for it. At least no one who mattered.

“Five.”

The smile disappeared, made way for a frown and Loki stood, twisted the red fabric one last time then made a conscious effort to let go.

“Four.”

He heaved in a breath and puffed it out again. Hands reached for the pommels of his daggers, one at each hip, a smaller knife in his boot and throwing knives stashed wherever they would fit. There had been far more than a measly six to choose from, this time.

“Three.”

Loki rocked on his feet, bouncing up onto the balls, then back onto his heels. Rolled his neck, felt the vertebrae in his spine click.

“Two.”

Hopefully, he’d win. He’d be free. He’d find his way to Asgard, find Thor, vanquish Hela. Get his home back.

“One!”

And the great doors trundled open, he threw up an arm against the piercing light, but it did nothing to block out the thunderous roar which swept through the opening.

It was screams and yells and wordless disdain. Boos, chatter, curses and everything else assaulted his ears. Spotlights trained on the entrance into the arena and Loki stepped out into it, squashed any uncertainty down.

Announcer was screaming, an insufferable voice insufferably loud. But he didn’t pay it any attention, and stared out at the arena instead.

The same tall walls. The same blue and red gravel. The same sea of faces atop those walls, mouths gaping open wide with the force of sound they were making.

Would he die here?

Would this be the last thing he saw? These tall walls and blue and red gravel and sea of open faces.

It was odd, seeing the place where he could die. It felt all the more real for how Frigga had almost begged him not to do this, how she had insisted it would end in his death, what felt like long ago.

But Loki wanted to see his brother again, wanted to be wrapped up in that red sea of cloth and feel like no one could touch him. It was infantile and childish and _sentimental_ , but there wasn’t much else he could think of, to give himself the strength to stay standing where he was. Not to try and flee.

And then all thought was at the very back of his mind.

Opposite him, across the arena.

Doors slid open.

Blasted by sound all around, Loki could still hear the thumping as a creature - a _huge_ creature - thudded closer.

Before the great sheets of metal had even slid completely to the side, it was there. A giant green arm slammed out, smashed into it and the door crumpled beneath the blow. It had to have been a metre thick, but acted more like a millimetre of aluminium foil.

It let loose a bellowing roar, stood before the ruined entrance it had come through, chest heaving. An almost comically tiny head sat atop grotesquely muscled shoulders, each one wider than Loki’s torso. The left one was armoured; a blue piece of curved, ribbed metal and an accompanying helmet covered the black hair which undoubtedly adorned its pate. Strips of leather strapped everything to it, twined into vambraces and greaves at unnaturally large hands and feet. In each fist was a ridiculously oversized weapon - one an axe, the other a strange variation of hammer.

Loki would have started an internal monologue, picking up on every single speck of dirt on the creature, just to distract himself from the inevitable fact that he needed to snap out of whatever limbo he had receded into. But he didn’t, because this was important and needed his mind not to be distantly pointing out utterly unimportant details and screaming in panic.

More importantly, that was the _motherfucking_ Hulk.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Loki breathed as he stared at the rapidly approaching Avenger.

  
  


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	9. He's Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already warned for violence a few times in this fic. Er.
> 
> More violence :)

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Loki was frozen in place. All intelligent thought had fled, replaced by incoherent screaming, echoing inside his skull. Because previously, he hadn’t quite understood his mother’s alarm. Now he most certainly did.

It was halfway across the arena in what felt like an instant, huge feet and bounding strides eating up the distance, kicking up gravel after each thud. Every step shook the ground and Loki’s knees trembled - from his own cowardice or the shaking floor, there was no way of knowing.

And then Loki was looking up into unnaturally green eyes, the same colour as its skin. Teeth bared, muscles bunching and fingers curled over handles in a way that suggested grasping and rending and tearing and-

He leapt back as one of those hands swung, a weapon moving too quick to identify as it made for his head. To decapitate him or cleave his skull. Loki felt frozen, the certainty that there was no way he would get out of this alive weighed heavily on him, sucking all the meaning from any attempt to halt the inevitable.

But he could almost see the disappointed look on his mother’s incorporeal face.

And Loki spun out of the way. He dodged the swing, blade not even touching the flaring leathers that swirled dramatically about him. His younger self had chosen armour for more impact, less practicality, but he was comforted by the familiar feeling of fabric dragging through the air.

Another attempt, this time slow enough that he could make out the hammer instead of just a blur, coming down at him from above. He stumbled away, just in time and felt the ground shake from impact, gravel spraying up to patter against his face and battle leathers. If that had hit, his spine would have crumpled. He swallowed thickly.

The Hulk roared, stooped over and its huge teeth flashed in Loki’s face as spittle flew. It was so loud, so close and he swayed back, hand reaching up involuntarily to protect his ears from the onrush of sound. It screamed about him and when it stopped, there was a new ringing, wormed into his head and sat there, screeching away.

More attacks, the only warning a blur of green and silver and Loki felt the air puffing against his skin each time, blades far too close to biting into his skin. Then there was a wall at his back, he bumped into it, another swing nearly took his head from his shoulders. Collapsed to the side in a desperate effort to avoid the next one, ducking under the axe by millimetres and it dragged through his shorn hair.

Loki scrambled upright. He had to get out of there, cornered against the wall. Another swing and when it bit into the gravel, he sprinted forwards, arms pumping. Past the Hulk, under the bridge of where hammer-wielding arm met its shoulder and onward. He felt more than heard or saw the huge body twist and axe come after him, biting into air right behind his torso. And Loki ran, heard the thumping feet behind him, his opponent’s too-loud roar, but he was faster. Longer legs a blur beneath him, he reached the centre of the arena in seconds, spun around.

The Hulk was walking forward, slowly, with a more calculating look upon its face.

The Prince slowly breathed in, then out. He calmed, racing heart attempting a more even pace. Hands found his knives, drew them. Curved blades glinted under the floodlights’ glare. Around them, the crowd chattered and screamed and roared.

And then the reprieve was over. Huge legs ate up the ground between them and Loki sank into a ready stance, feet shoulder width apart and arms up, weapons in hand.

Swipe aimed towards his feet as the Hulk came within range, its entire body twisting with the force of it. Loki lightly jumped over it, then ran forwards. The creature’s right shoulder was flung forwards, all the momentum of the attack had twisted it off-balance and now left its side exposed. He slid in, both daggers held out to the side as he ran, raking across the skin from the naval to where ribcage met spine. It did not wound, simply slid across, metal squealing and bending from the pressure he exerted.

Once past the Hulk, Loki continued, then turned back, glanced at his knives. They were curled, now. Ends trying to touch hilts and he dropped them after a moment of shock.

The Hulk was glowering at him, some metres away, swinging its hammer and axe, roaring. Though more wary. On its side, there was a small mark - _tiny_. But that meant it could be hurt. What could be hurt, could be killed and Loki allowed himself a sharp smile.

This time, he was the one to charge.

A swing, diagonally downwards to split his chest in two. He twisted and it sped past, wind puffing on his face and he ran on. The next was leapt over and then he was at the Hulk’s feet.

Dashed in, new blades in hand and was at the beast’s back in effortless moments. It started to lumber round, taken off guard by his sudden boldness and speed. Loki dug his knives in, at the small of its back, where the kidneys should have been, felt skin give and, with a triumphant smirk, plunged them in, to the hilt. Arms came around, clumsily reaching for him and he ducked away, sliding one blade out with a gush of green which spouted onto his hand, coating him to the elbow. The sickening stench of blood followed it and then one hand found him, grabbed him.

Loki gasped as it closed, ribs starting to crack from the pressure. Knife dropped from his fingers and the other remained lodged in the Hulk’s back. Then he was hanging in front of the beast. Fingers trying to crumple him, crack open his torso to expose the organs inside. He kicked and struggled, then a snapping pain and air shot out of him and he leant forward, coughing. Something had gone wrong, then something else broke and there was cold, salty liquid in his mouth, on his tongue.

Frigga had been right, this was suicide.

Another cough. Loki stared, uncomprehending, at the splotch of purple which splashed onto the green fingers holding him.

Then the Hulk switched its grip on him, grasped him by the legs, huge hands covering from his ankles to his shins, bones groaning in protest. He dangled upside down for a moment, then was being flung about. Down. Towards the gravel ground.

Loki remembered all too well how much that had hurt, last time. It had not broken bones, but he had not been stripped of his magic on Midgard. It had the potential to kill him, now.

Considered letting the floor rush up, cave in his skull and end it. Then his brother and mother and Asgard flitted into his mind’s eye, momentarily. But it was enough of a reminder. He struggled, twisting and yelling. Took the first hit in the shoulder, felt his collarbone give way and a shard of bone protruded from his skin. Reached down with his remaining workable hand and pulled out a long hunting blade from his boot, wickedly curved and sharp, spine bending unnaturally to reach it.

Momentum as he was hurled up from the floor and, at the top of the swing, he twisted in the Hulk’s grip and stretched, stretched. Until he was being brought down again and he was close enough. The knife dug into the beast’s scalp, biting deep into its forehead, just beneath the helmet rim and then ripped down with the force of its own swing. Knees twisted at an odd angle and near to breaking point from how fast he was thrown, his body wrenched in two different directions as Loki held desperately onto the knife.

With a scream of pain, the Hulk yanked at its opponent and he had to let go of the blade, else risk snapping his knees and then Loki was flying. He tumbled through the air, smashed into a wall. More ribs cracked and he didn’t have the breath for anything but a whimper.

The Hulk was moving closer, and panic from before came back full force, crushing his chest and sending pangs through the broken bones littering his torso.

It didn’t stop and Loki tried to stand, gasping and his body filled with shards of ice, stabbing deep each time he moved and cool liquid dribbled down his chin.

If he had his seiðr, he could have healed it, just enough to continue fighting. Actually, he would not have gotten this injured in the first place. Perhaps if Odin cared, he would reinstate it. Only for a bit, to let him escape death. He wanted to hope for it, for his family to still care. And despite his carefully maintained lack of hope, it still stung that his magic drained away when he reached for it.

Loki braced himself against the wall, set his face in a snarl to not give away how much he _hurt_.

He was fucking _terrified_.

And something responded.

Ice. For the first time in his long life, Loki was glad to see it.

Crystals formed on his arms, neck, chest, wrapped around his ribs to stop them jostling and the next breath lacked the glass dust he had been breathing previously. Then it swept across gravel, swirling and marbled with hues of silver and black and green and red. Ended just before the Hulk’s feet. Shot up.

Ice climbed upon itself, flying colours within it flaring upwards, grew brighter, looked like someone had entrapped the aurora borealis within clear, frozen blue. And a wall appeared, grew taller. It reached up and up, until Loki could no longer see the Hulk behind it.

Inside his body, bones twisted and were set back in their rightful place. The shard of white sticking out from his clavicle was sucked back under and the steady flow of purple from multiple cuts and grazes tapered off.

Loki stared at the wall and felt nothing. No wonder or acceptance and too shocked for horror. On the other side, a fist smashed into it. A small crack formed, deep in the ice, visible only as a solid white line, blurred at the edges.

So _weak_.

Even drawing involuntarily upon his heritage would not save him. He loathed it and, when its use was forced upon him, this _degradation_ didn’t even do anything but delay the inevitable for mere seconds. Loki started to laugh, a mean and low snarl of a sound, but was interrupted by a cough, bones in his chest not as painful as before, but the brace about his ribs had melted away. Every movement once again sent shockwaves of pain through him. Loki leant more against the wall.

Another thud and the crack spiderwebbed outwards, spiraling until it reached the surface facing him. A tap would send it tumbling to the floor and the Hulk smashed its foot through the destroyed blockade, sending splinters flying and blocks tumbling.

In the stands, the crowd roared with the beast, screaming for death. Started up a chant calling for which methods they would prefer and Loki tried to focus on that to distract from how the floor had disappeared beneath his feet. How his stomach no longer had a bottom. How his heart was thudding a tempo into the inside of his skull, trying to worm its way out of his mouth.

The Hulk stormed closer, dropping its weapons as it went, to end him with its own hands.

Loki reached into the folds of his armour, fished out the throwing knives and flung them. His aim was off from how his arm trembled and the ones which struck simply bounced off. The crowd laughed.

And it was upon him, hands out to grab him and suddenly Loki’s eyes were nearly closing as the last of his strength fled him, was sucked out of him and suddenly, searing heat against his face. Somewhere above him, the beast was stumbling backwards, one arm mangled and crumpled, as if from some massive blow.

But it did not stop, simply grew more angry.

Hands reached out and down. This time he barely had the strength to lift his head and stared into the Hulk’s face and spat, the gob mixed with purple. It barely reached the beast’s neck, but Loki made a point to plaster his most terrifying grin on, hoping the blood staining his chin made it even more so, instead of just pathetic.

It clutched him by the neck and started to squeeze. Vertebrae popped and began to crack and Loki gagged on the scream that wanted to come out, then escaped only as a gurgle. He reached up, patted weakly at the forearm holding him up. Reached towards the face and shoved at the chin, desperation and lack of oxygen making his thoughts fuzzy.

Pain in his hand and it shot back, away and purple was gouting from the end somewhere. He couldn’t see, his vision was blurry. The crowd’s cheers faded out.

But he heard a bang. Above him.

Another one.

The crackling of shattered glass.

Loki wondered what was causing that racket through his haze. It was disturbing him from the arduous task of dying. How disrespectful.

Thor would do something like that, annoying, idiotic oaf that he was. And Loki smiled, holding the image of his brother in his mind.

But then he wasn’t dying.

Air, sweet air. Filled his lungs and the moment it hit them, he was gasping, coughing and gasping again. Desperately pulling it in, pushing it out, chest heaving causing the broken ribs to scream in protest, but it was dulled by how _good_ it felt to not have a crushed trachea.

Where had he fallen?

Where was the Hulk?

Loki tried to sit up, but couldn’t move beneath his neck. Only turn his head, which he promptly did.

To see the beast fighting someone else. Someone else cloaked in red and silver and with a golden mane of hair flowing about his head.

Loki stared, mouth held slightly open and then turned up at the edges. Frost appeared on his cheeks and he laughed, soft but happy.

Thor was alive!

Thor was _alive_ and everything faded out of focus but that figure, cape swirling and hair twisting because he was moving and fighting and fighting meant _alive_. Not dead, decaying, void of everything that made him Loki’s brother.

He was saying something, hands up and trying to talk to the Hulk, who just snorted at everything he said, roared, ran forward and attacked. Favouring his left arm and half blind, but still with force behind the punches.

Blue eyes didn’t turn towards Loki, to check if he was alright. He lay, seemingly forgotten next to the wall. Not even the crowd or that blasted commentator noticed him.

“Thor…” Loki whispered.

His throat was sore and aching and he coughed again when the name left his lips. But it was too quiet and he barely heard it.

“Thor,” Loki said.

Louder. But the Asgardian was knocking aside one of the Hulk’s fists, yelling angrily.

“ _Brother_ ,” Loki shouted, but it came out as a dry rasp.

And the image of Thor’s caped back was the last thing he saw as darkness closed in.

  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be longer, but it has to stand alone. So; double upload :D
> 
> Have a good day!


	10. The Hug™

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Sound, loud and insistent, as if someone was yelling at him through a tunnel. Hard stones poked into his back and his entire body _hurt_. But even as he lay on the floor, Loki could feel bones knitting themselves back together, his collarbone cracked and his head jolted as it settled into place. Through the haze of exhaustion and pain, he knew, somehow, that this was too fast. He shouldn’t have been able to heal the amount of damage he sustained in what had to be only minutes.

A blunt object dug into his side with force, probably re-breaking a rib and Loki gasped, his eyes shot open only to flinch back closed again in response to the stabbing white light. In that split second, he had managed to make out a looming figure, bent over him and undoubtedly the one kicking him. Even with the skewed perspective and blinding light, it was too small for the Hulk.

Which reminded Loki of the other person who had been in the ring right before he slipped unconscious.

“ _Thor_!” The name burst from his mouth and he sat up, so fast he became dizzy. “You’re _alive_!” Loki held his hands up to block the light and squinted, just about made out his brother’s face, confused and without recognition.

Had something happened to him? Perhaps Hela had been a cruel victor, stripped Thor of his memories and Loki’s hands trembled at the thought.

Forced himself upright, swaying, ribs cracking and popping as they returned to more natural positions. Reached out.

Thor stepped back a frown on his face, hands fisted at his sides. “Did you not hear me? I didn’t know being a runt made you deaf.”

Hela had taken his memories. Loki felt his face twist into a snarl and he was far too tired to stop it. “Thor, I’m your brother,” He said, tried to keep his voice as level and calming as possible.

“ _Loki_?!” He yelped, incredulous and those bright, sparkling, _alive_ eyes searched his face. “But you're bl-”

“You’re alright, thank the Norns,” Loki couldn’t hold back his grin. “I didn’t think you were,” He swayed again and reached out, hands on Thor’s shoulders and the smile spread wider until it hurt his cheeks, but he didn’t care. And his knees seemed to collapse beneath him. Suddenly, there was nothing holding him up but his older brother. “I thought you were _dead_.”

Arms didn’t come up behind him, the body he held onto was stiff as a board and unmoving except for heavy breaths. And that was all Loki needed. He listened to them, felt how his brother’s chest expanded and contracted in time with the too-warm air which tickled the nape of his neck. Somehow, he found himself with his head resting fully against one armoured shoulder, arms wrapped as tightly as he could around Thor, as if holding onto him tightly enough meant that everything would be okay.

Then Loki remembered that this was Thor, his very much alive brother. And that what he was doing could be mistaken for a hug. Which it was most certainly _not_ , but the thought had him push himself off the armoured torso and wobble tiredly on his own two feet.

“... Loki?” Said brother looked confused, eyebrows raised nearly into the golden mane of hair that wreathed his head. He didn’t appear to be suffering from any injuries, only the potential memory loss. Except that he seemed to remember who he was.

“What _happened_?” Loki said and concentrated on standing upright, forcing his knees to stop shaking.

“Why’s your hair,” Thor made an obscure gesture at his head, pulled a face then said whatever he was thinking instead of answering the question. “Short?”

Loki scowled and a hand reached up automatically to pat at the offending bristles, then caught the action and his arm fell back down to his side. “Not important!”

“Will they cut mine like that?”

“Hopefully. It’s a mess.”

“Better than being half bald,” He retorted, arms crossed.

Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes but couldn’t stop the sigh - half relieved and half exasperated. And then a very large, rather green silhouette appeared out of the too-bright light as his eyes readjusted. More from instinct than anything, his tired body stumbled back a few steps and strategically placed his far more durable brother between himself and the Hulk.

“Didn’t you kill him?” The younger Prince hissed under his breath, shoulders up near his chin and automatically reaching for his seiðr, before remembering that Odin was a suspicious old goat and it was locked away.

Thor glanced over his shoulder towards the Hulk, who was glaring at them in a way that didn’t bode well for his ribs. “Of course not, I came down here to talk.”

“ _Talk_ to him?” Perhaps Hela hadn’t taken his memories, just whatever few remaining braincells he possessed. “You jumped through a window to talk to that,” He pointed, eyebrows creeping into his hairline. “He tried to kill me!”

“ _You_ tried to kill me.”

“With a knife. You had armour.”

“It’s the thought that counts.”

“Then no wonder you haven’t killed him!”

“Why did I have to save you, then?”

Loki scowled. “You didn’t.”

Thor had an expression that was far too close to a smirk for his taste. Loki’s frown grew until the corners of his mouth had to be almost hanging off his chin.

Fortunately, the grumbling of a door opening distracted him from how utterly _embarrassing_ this situation was, even without how warm his cheeks and ear tips had gotten. And from the entrance appeared guards. Many of them. They entered to the right, along the wall a few hundred metres, boots stamping but postures relaxed.

He should have expected this - for them to interfere once things had so obviously gone astray. Why had it taken so long? Perhaps nothing like this had happened before; no one had had the audacity to smash through a window, jump into the arena and fight their Champion?

If his guess was true, then Loki had a small advantage. No plans for such an eventuality meant that they had a chance.

But before his exhausted mind could conjure words to tell Thor his idea, those guards were far too close.

Between the brothers and the approaching group was a rather large, green monstrosity. Who had also heard the door grind open and thud of multiple feet running. And had turned away from his opponent, to face said guards instead. Loki stared at the broad back with no clue what the Hulk was going to do. Even bloodied, he was a force to be wary of.

“Hulk!” Thor shouted, a grin on his face and Loki felt exasperation rise in his chest. Because of course this idiot didn’t understand the threat they faced. “Smash!”

The head, small against such vast shoulders turned back to look at them, a sneer firmly in place. That stupid smirk on the blonde’s face shrunk a little.

“No,” The Hulk said, voice recalcitrant, like a teenager being told to clean his room.

Next to Loki, Thor looked utterly stumped. His face crumpled in on itself in a rather confused way, as if gravity had suddenly flipped and everything went shooting into the sky.

Then the green giant was stomping away, grumbling to himself and kicked petulantly at one of the guards on his way to the opened door. The armour-clad form went flying into a wall, slid down it and lay motionless. As swiftly as the battle had started, the Hulk was gone, leaving Thor and Loki facing a squad of guards. There was a stretch of gravel between them, only a hundred metres.

One separated from the rest. “Luke, you’ll be taken back to your cell. Thor, back to the hall.”

“And what’ll happen to him?” Loki was saying, projecting his voice, before he could think twice about it.

The guard shrugged. “Melt stick?”

That didn’t sound good.

“I’ll go,” Thor declared and stepped forward, as if he was seriously considering complying.

When he continued walking, with no indications that he was utilising his higher brain functions, Loki reached out, grabbed him by the shoulder. “You are a _fool_. Did Odin place a pig’s brain between your ears whilst I was gone?!”

“You mean imprisoned?”

Loki snarled, tugged on his brother’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “These people will not take one look at you and let you go, Thor. You want to go back to Asgard? It won’t happen if you’re captured.”

“ _You_ want to go back to Asgard?” There was incredulity in his voice, and Loki shoved down the angry pang it sent through him. “Obvious manipulation won’t work any more. Try harder.”

Against his will, a surprised, pained hiss escaped from between clenched teeth. Thor made to shrug his hand off, but instead the grip tightened, knuckles whitened. “We need to get out of here. This might be our best chance to escape.”

His words were ignored and a large hand wrapped about his wrist, tugged it away and the bones ground together. Then Thor was walking across the gravel, head held high and brimming with his usual swagger. Guards swarmed him the moment he was within reach, restrained him and Loki’s ribs seemed to be squeezing against his lungs.

Breathing was becoming harder, his vision blurred and blood pounded in his ears, drowning everything else out. A Midgardian term swam into mind, from when Barton had spilled everything about himself, about his friends. A panic attack; was this what it felt like?

No matter. Loki shoved the thought aside, pulled in a lungful of air with a snarl, tried to ignore how his chest was constricting.

Ahead of him, Thor was being manhandled by the guards, not fighting back even when one procured a set of cuffs. It was easy to see them as Einherjar, with those self-righteous expressions.

Before he could truly think about what he was doing, Loki was running forward. Feet drumming into the gravel, arms pumping. It took seconds and he was there. Because no _fucking way_ was he letting these bastards take his brother. _No_. Not happening. Especially if something called a damned ‘ _melt stick_ ’ was in play. How was he supposed to get back to Asgard if the powerful warrior was a pile of melted Thor-goo?! Somewhere, hidden behind sheer panic and surging anger, the voice of reason was screaming that this was a bad idea. But Loki couldn’t hear it, drowned out by the roar in his ears.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any weapons on him. Except the guards had kindly brought said weapons, and they really hadn’t been expecting him to charge at them like an imbecile. With the help of his momentum, Loki flung himself at the nearest armour-clad figure, barrelled into it and reached to its belt, snatched a rather long, curved and wicked-looking knife from its sheath.

A pause as the creatures realised they were being attacked. Another moment as they clocked him, eyes wide with surprise. Loki grinned and set to work. Because no alien _bastards_ were going to take his brother, now that he had miraculously appeared, alive and well.

In moments the knife plunged hilt-deep through a thin scrap of leather joint at one guard’s throat. Ripped it out in a spray of blood and he was moving.

“Loki, no!” Thor yelled, his eyes wide. Because he apparently hadn’t yet realised that their situation was _dangerous_.

Another guard fell, a giant gash from his left shoulder down to his right hip, ribs visible and torn armour stained red. Loki lashed out with a kick and the body was flung into another, sending both tumbling. He glanced around. Nine remained, further away than these two, his brother was bound, with two more at his shoulders and the rest were already grouping up, weapons in hand. This wouldn’t be easy.

But fuck them, he wasn’t going to let Thor out of his sight. If he did, there was a terrible feeling in his chest that told him he would disappear in a puff of smoke and Loki'd wake up, back in that cell on Asgard. Where he would burn and burn and _burn_ , never know what happened, never know if they were all dead, they had to be dead, Hela was too powerful for them not to be dead and burning and _dead_ _an-_

The longer he stood there trying to get his damn ribs to stop squeezing his lungs into non-existence, the harder this fight would be. Loki shifted his grip on the dagger, felt his hand scream with pain, but sprinted forwards with no warning.

Immediately, barrels were leveled at him and he could hear the clicks and whistles as they fired; could hear Thor yelling something. Probably an attempt to get him to stop and how satisfying that was; to have _Thor_ telling _him_ to stop. It was usually Loki yelling, exasperated, as his brother bowled into another set of enemies when negotiation was a much easier and safer option. Except he knew it wasn’t, this time, and the usual method of hiding until Thor dealt with it was no longer viable. Since he was being such an obtuse _idiot_. Without the haze of grief to cloud Loki’s thoughts, he was remembering why he hated his brother so much.

It was little effort to dodge the projectiles arcing towards him, to twist his torso and leap, land in a roll and spring up with his dagger outstretched, feel resistance as the blade sank into someone’s gut. A soft gasp from the owner of said stomach and Loki was whirling away again, dropped down as he felt air tickling his neck. A blur of silver brushed against what remained of his hair and he was up again in a flash, stepped forward and thrust the dagger, somewhere into a chest. Resistance, but this time against metal and the sliding of blades against each other.

Loki pulled back, felt the guard relax slightly, then he doubled down, placed another fist over the grip of his knife and leant forwards, just in time to avoid the swing of another blade which nicked the back of his neck. Cool liquid trickled but he was away, crouched above the body, yanked his blade from its chest. They circled him for a moment, until he heard the click and whine of another gun going off and leapt aside, twisted to land facing the attacker.

Heard the thud of the projectile colliding with the body he had been stradling. Despite its helmet, he could see wide eyes of the guard that had fired it. Steps behind him and a grunt followed by a swish of air and he was turning again, reached up and grabbed the wrist which held a mace. Crushed those fine bones and stood, lifting his leg to drive his knee upwards. A surprised yelp from the guard, followed by wet gasping, probably internal bleeding, but there wasn’t time to put it out of its misery. More weapons. A blur of them, all heading for Loki.

Everything he could do to not be hit. He was exhausted, but through the haze he watched as the imbeciles fell to centuries-old tricks, which even Thor had seen through when they were children, before Loki had mastered his seiðr. Guns whistled and cracked, blades grew shiny with blood and they fell, more to each other than to their singular opponent.

The last two guards stood next to each other, with Thor behind them, restrained and a look of shock on his face.

Loki stood across from them and pulled in a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the knife yet again. Previous scream of pain was only a twinge, dulled by adrenaline. Inside his chest, it felt as if there was a fist pounding on the inside of his ribs. It resounded, thumping in his ears and in his flushed face. He wasn’t thinking straight, only wishing to see his brother unbound. Nothing else mattered.

Charged, right then left as arcs of energy flashed towards him. He struck, meant to jam the blade between ribs, up into the guard’s lung through the thin leather between its armour plates. But it caught, on a bone. Not enough time to yank it out, nor enough strength in his exhausted body. Loki turned and brought up an arm. A sword clashed with his vambrace, bounced off and he convinced his tired legs to move, launching him at the guard. With no weapon, there wasn’t much choice of attacks. Grabbed the right arm and twisted, the _pop_ of dislocation followed and as the guard was distracted by uselessly screaming, Loki bit as hard as he could into the leather neck joint. Pierced it and tore into what had to be the creature’s trachea, turned the panicked screaming into a faint gurgle.

“Asgard must have been worse than I thought,” Said a voice faintly. Thor.

Loki ripped away from the guard, spat out the blood and bits of cartilage in his mouth and grimaced at the hole now adorning the neck, spurting blood. “That tastes foul,” He remarked, wiped the rapidly drying fluid from his face, but only managed to smear it around.

“Loki…”

“Thor, they’re going to kill you!” He hissed in reply, stalked over to glower into those blue eyes. “And Asgard has nothing to do with this.”

“Tell me you would have ripped someone’s throat out with your _teeth_ before being locked in that cell?”

There wasn’t the time for such bickering and Loki snarled, turned away from his irritating brother and bent to retrieve his knife with a harsh yank. “You are the one who left me there to burn, remember?” He said over his shoulder, injecting as much venom into it as he could, despite his exhaustion. “Only yourself to blame.”

“ _I_ left you?! I didn’t even know you were alive!!” Thor retorted and the sound of stomping as he approached. Loki could almost see the scowl on his face, eyebrows drawn low and skin wrinkling along his nose, lips turned down in disapproval. “ _You_ betrayed us, allowed Hela into Asgard, tried to _kill father_ and let’s not forget about Midgard!”

“We don’t have time for this, brother,” Loki stood, turned and they were bare centimetres apart. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thor’s fist clenching and relaxing, clenching, relaxing, clenching, relaxing. “Are you going to kill me, for this ‘betrayal’? Get on with it.”

“I should!”

“Then do it,” He hissed back, spread his arms, chin up. “A good twist and you can snap my neck. End the monster for good. Won’t father be _proud_?”

Tense moments. But Thor didn’t move. Just like he had thought. Coward.

“Stop wasting time, we need to move,” Loki holstered the knife and turned, walked towards the door. Above him, in the stands, the crowd was still roaring, the announcer was screaming as if this was the best day of his life, but they were so quiet compared to the pounding of his heart. It almost seemed to know how close it had come to never beating again.

He hated Thor. He truly did. His ignorance, his disbelief and his idiocy. How he seemed to have completely forgotten that they were _brothers_.

But he also wasn’t going to let the damn fool come to harm. Because a powerful warrior would come in handy whilst escaping and if they got to Asgard. Because they were brothers. Which he had forgotten, but seeing him outside that cell, come to take him away from the _burning_. Made him remember. Made him remember how important it was, how without Thor, he was lost, had no purpose.

Loki had to admit to himself that, perhaps, he deserved the disdain he was being treated with. Midgard had been… He wasn’t at his best after the years-long fall through the Void. After Thanos and... And, whilst he hadn’t faked his death on Svartalfheim, he hadn’t revealed himself as alive either.

No time, no time! And no point to dwelling on what had already occurred. Above, the people still screamed in their stands and the announcer was still shouting with fervor.

“Do you have a plan?” Thor was at his side, face cold and distant, but it was better than contemplating fratricide.

Loki bit on his knuckle, gazed upwards. “I did until you arrived.” Then he glanced at his brother, noticed the manacles still about his wrists and unsheathed the dagger.

“What are you doing?”

He rolled his eyes, gestured at the metal. “Use your brain, Thor.”

Perhaps another minute until further guards entered the arena, but there would be more of them, with better weapons and they wouldn’t underestimate him this time. If he had his seiðr, or was just less exhausted, then things would be different. Even with Thor present, despite the lack of Mjolnir, they could have taken however many opponents were sent against them. But Loki could barely keep on his feet after healing the damage Hulk had inflicted, not to mention his thoughtless battle against the previous wave of guards. If the instinctual, life-force magic could be reliably used, then they may have stood a chance. But that wasn’t the case. Making a stand at this point could be fatal for the both of them, and Loki cursed his idiocy in fighting without any forethought. Perhaps Thor was right; Asgard had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

“We surrender,” Loki said.

“... Didn’t I suggest that earlier? And you had a killing spree instead of listening to me?”

“Nothing you haven’t done.”

“Years ago, not now.”

“Thor, we’re in a bit of a _situation_ here, in case you hadn’t noticed. Maybe this can wait until later?”

“Betray me-”

“And you’ll kill me. Yes, I understand. Now shut up.” Thor huffed somewhere beside him but quietened.

They waited in silence, the crowd roaring above as they waited in the entrance. Loki fiddled with the hilt of his knife, then dropped it. No use in keeping it; they knew he had a weapon so any attempt at hiding it would be useless.

Somehow, his mind couldn’t seem to accept that Thor was alive. He stood there, quietly, doing nothing but looking into the room he stood opposite, but Loki’s thoughts would seem to rediscover his brother’s alive-and-well status every few seconds, marveling over it. He would never make another attempt on Thor’s life, he vowed. Not after experiencing how terrifying it was, actually believing that he would never see him again. To see the body, to actually watch as those blue eyes dulled and to hold him as he fell to the floor, never to rise again… And knowing that it was his fault. No one else to blame. Even on Midgard, in the midst of his madness, he hadn’t truly been trying to kill Thor. But thinking back on it, he wanted to vomit as he remembered the feel of his blade sinking into his brother’s side.

  
  


Actually, he wouldn’t let Thor die. Period.

He needed to get it together. Yes, he wouldn’t try and kill Thor again; he could make that concession to his overly-sentimental wayward thoughts. But thinking about it and thinking about it and _thinking about it_ was not helping their situation in the slightest. He couldn’t afford to let himself care; he was in the right! Asgard had overlooked him and scorned him and this ‘brother’ had been first in line.

As if announcing their time was up, the door swung open and guards piled through into the room. Loki blinked, stared at them and allowed a small smile to form. They looked blatantly terrified, clumped together like that, with weapons drawn.

“We surrender!” He called out to them and, exaggerated to the point of mocking, brought his hands up, palms stained red.

Next to him, he could almost taste Thor’s hesitation. The guards didn’t look too trigger-happy, so Loki swiftly elbowed him in the side. “We _surrender_ , Thor,” He said out of the corner of his mouth. It was a wonder they had yet to use the obedience disk. Evidently, his fight against the previous batch of guards had been entertaining. Bastards.

Slowly, large, tan hands rose to head height and Loki huffed out a sigh. Everything had to be a struggle, didn’t it?

After a few seconds of indecision, the guards shuffled out of the room. The moment they were within range of Loki, there were hands wrapped around his arms and he was being shoved roughly to the floor. He grinned, more baring of blood stained teeth than anything else. How they flinched only widened it. Quite entertaining, to be the one they feared instead of the - usually - more intimidating older Prince. They had learnt their lesson, apparently.

He heard rather than saw Thor try half-heartedly to shake off his restrainers, but he acquiesced when Loki shot a pointed glare his way. “I hope you know what you’re doing….” He grumbled.

“Just play nice. If they _do_ try and melt you, run away.”

“Are you sure melting me _isn’t_ your plan?”

“My plan is stalling until I can escape, rescue your sorry arse and find a way to Asgard. Now that you know the particulars, have anything _intelligent_ to add?” After a beat of silence, he smirked, a sharp edge to it. “Just as I thought. If you don’t trust me, find your own way.”

“I _don’t_ trust you,” Thor replied shortly.

Loki’s grin widened, flashing red teeth. “Then use your five minutes of experience with this planet to free yourself, and your equally pathetic knowledge of magic to transport yourself to Asgard.” There was no point to his sharp words other than to aggravate his brother, which was probably a bad idea given how tense their interactions had been. Not to mention that Loki would most likely need Thor to escape. But he couldn’t stop himself. It was like seeing a button labeled ‘don’t press’. He was incapable of resisting.

Instead of further useless exchanges, the guards seemingly grew tired of it and began to drag the two away, thoroughly bound.

  
  


♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙

  
  


Loki was unceremoniously hauled through the building until he was thrown, with very little dignity, into his cell. The bastards couldn’t even be bothered to pop open his manacles. No matter. He stumbled to his feet, a snarl on his face and aimed a kick at the door, causing a new dent in the metal.

“... Luke?” A voice said, high pitched and lilting; Hon Dör. In the haze of battle and finding out Thor was _alive_ , he had completely forgotten his cellmates even existed.

He paused, let out a shout and kicked the door again, because he didn’t _want_ to let them take his brother. Anything could happen and he wasn’t about to lose the oaf again. But it had to be done. Thor could take care of himself for a few hours, while Loki figured a way out of this mess. Then they would escape and his debt would be paid, for being released from that cell. No matter that it had been only to help fight a greater evil, Thor had still freed him and Loki hated allowing others something to hang over his head.

“Luke?” This time a slightly deeper voice. Moth’s large hand was on his shoulder, a gentle weight. He ducked away from it automatically, twisted and batted the arm away. “Did you defeat the Champion? I was worried.”

With a sigh, he tugged at the manacles in an effort to get them off. “No, I didn’t. But we need to escape _now_.”

Moth reached out and grasped the metal binding him and, with a quick twist of their wrist, crumpled the locking mechanism, freeing his hands. “You have a new plan?”

“No,” Loki sighed, nodded his thanks and slid down to sit, leaning against the wall, rubbing his wrists absently.

Hon Dör hummed and settled down next to him. “Then we’re just going to have to make it up as we go.”

They sat in silence and Loki felt his eyes drooping closed. Even with what had to be record amounts of adrenaline shooting through his veins, he was exhausted. Fighting against the Hulk, the magic which he seemed to have involuntarily used, then ripping through that squad to get to his brother…

“Luke?” Moth interrupted his thoughts, sauntering vaguely downwards towards sleep.

“Hmm?” He cracked an eye open again and gazed blearily up at the figure.

“You don’t have a pinky finger.”

“... What?”

Hon Dör glanced over at him, then one of her hands was on his, holding up the limb. Loki tried to tug it away, then he noticed that Moth was correct. He was missing a finger.

“I nearly died,” He said, just realising that stark fact, throat suddenly housing a boulder. “I nearly _died_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hon Dör’s mask turn to look at Moth, concern written in her drawn shoulders. “But you survived. You’re safe here.”

“He didn’t even see me while I was dying,” The words flowed out of him, seeming to completely bypass his brain on their way to his mouth. His tone a cold juxtaposition to what he was unwittingly saying. “I just lay there next to the wall and he didn’t even look for me…”

“Your brother?” Moth this time. He didn’t remember when they had leant in so close, hands resting on his shoulders.

Loki slowly nodded, stared at his hand because there was a _stump_ where his smallest finger should have been. When the Hulk picked him up that last time, crushed his neck… It must have happened then. “My brother knows the Champion. I… I think he came through a window, on a balcony. To talk to it. Didn’t even recognise me…”

“He’s in shock,” Someone said and he couldn’t tell who. Everything was so far away. All he could see was Thor’s back, fighting Hulk, as he lay paralysed. Thor before the Grandmaster, with an ominous stick pointed towards his chest. Thor a pile of goo on the floor and Loki alone again.

A green face and he hadn’t the energy to flinch away from it. “Sleep, Luke. I will heal your wounds. You are safe now.”

He slept.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed Loki being a lil bit OOC in this fic, that's on purpose because ya know. Trauma. Torture. Family stuff. He's been acting different on Sakaar because, in his eyes, Moth and Honnie don't really matter and he can let his guard down around them. With Thor being back, we're going to see a return of In Character Loki™! Hopefully, y'all figured that out before this AN, but just in case my writing is much worse than I thought. Here's the lil explanation of why he's actually talking to randos. Hope you enjoyed and comments make my week :)
> 
> Also. Mah boi fighting to protecc his big bro adsdgvdsdgh


	11. Hollow

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


When Loki’s eyes slowly cracked open, there was frost on his cheeks and warm fingers on his hand, voices murmuring softly in the background. He felt utterly spent, as if each emotion to ever exist in his body had been sucked out, leaving him hollow, but somehow in a good way. Almost peaceful.

He was vaguely aware that his body hurt. It was at a distance, through what had to be emotional exhaustion. Despite that, he felt rejuvenated compared to the bone-deep weariness remembered from just before falling asleep.

“Luke,” Moth said in their soft voice and brown eyes came into view. “Do you feel better?”

“Define ‘better’,” He replied, but with none of the usual venom and slowly shifted himself into a sitting position, back leant against the wall. When he moved his arm, he winced and bit back a surprised yelp. Bringing the offending appendage to his face, he examined it. On his right hand, where his pinky finger should have been was a neatly bandaged stump. Adrenaline and the shock of seeing Thor alive must have stopped him from realising sooner.

A small fist came to rest on his shoulder and he made to shrug it off, but Hon Dör’s voice stopped him. “At least you didn’t lose the whole hand…?” She said, sounding almost nervous.

Loki snorted. “I can still fight, it’s not important.”

“Not important…?”

He glanced over at her cracked mask and felt his lips curl gently upwards. “Not important. I know a warrior, Týr, who lost his entire _arm_ in battle and has yet to give up the sword.”

“I do _not_ want to go to your Nine Realms if we get out of here.”

A laugh burst from his mouth and Loki bit it back, but couldn’t control his smile. “Too crazy for you?”

“By far,” Hon Dör replied, chuckling. “The Kursed? Racism? Amputation being normalised? No thank you.”

“Then I hope you find a way to wherever it is you’re from. And to your brother.”

She hummed noncommittally. “Maybe not.”

Moth glanced over at her from where they knelt, bandages still in hand and keen eyes scanning their patient for anything else that required tending. But now they were looking at Hon Dör, concern evident in the lines of their face. “Why?”

“I… Was Royalty. In Andromeda,” She sighed, leant her head back against the wall. “One of the lesser families, from one of the lesser worlds. When the Mad Giant attacked and enslaved us, I rebelled.”

Something about that name… But Hon Dör was speaking again with a heavy voice.

“I only made it worse. He slaughtered my people in retaliation for even the slightest indiscretion. Me and my brother, we fought Him, but were thrown into space. You know the rest.”

“Why attack him? The small masked one?” Moth had a look close to awe on their face. “If you both fought against the Giant.”

Hon Dör sighed and her head dipped forward again, until her chin rested on her chest. “My brother… He didn’t rebel with me at first. If I had complied, then he believed his negotiations would have worked. That there would have been fewer deaths.” Her thumbs twisted in her lap, looping each other. “I was… Angry, I think. If we had worked together from the start, then our home wouldn’t have been enslaved at all.” Then she laughed, a soft huff of breath. “How about you, Moth?”

“Me?”

“No, the wall.” There was a smile behind that mask, Loki could hear it. A sad smile, trying to gloss over what she had shared. “You said something about a… Colony?”

“I was sent here by my collective, to recruit this planet,” They said with a shrug. “I have yet to succeed.”

Loki tuned out of the conversation, which continued to flow around him, the calming lull of murmuring words allowed him to focus. Without the constant buzz of realisation that Thor was alive and the quiet calm that had settled over him after sleeping, plans seemed to almost form themselves.

But there was nothing new for him to plot with. The Valkyrie’s servant passage would doubtless have security now in place after their little escapade. And he didn’t know another route, except perhaps through the front door. Which would be unbelievably stupid, but, with Thor, these two and his own strength returning... It wasn’t as impossible as it had been.

However, he had little time to plan.

After a few minutes of relaxing against the wall, feeling the aches and pains of his body melt away, the door opened.

A singular guard stood in the entrance and there was none of the apprehension Loki normally felt. Instead, a grin spread across his face. The murmur of conversation had died away, and all three cellmates were staring up at the armoured creature.

“Luke, you’re coming with me,” It said, stance relaxed and shoulders back, a hand rested threateningly on the pommel of its sheathed sword.

Loki slowly turned his head to look at Moth and Hon Dör, the smile wrinkling skin about his eyes and he wanted to laugh. “This is too easy.”

Even Moth seemed to understand before the guard, stood there with no comprehension.

“Should I?” The Prince asked, rather theatrically, as he slowly and leisurely got to his feet.

An answering grin from Moth and Hon Dör chuckled. In another situation, he would have called the shared expression rather evil, except for the twinkle of mischief that flashed in their eyes. Without anything else to say, he turned to the guard. “Well then. If you would _kindly_ step inside.”

Through the helmet, he could see the guard’s brow furrowed in confusion and Loki sighed, grabbed it by the arm and yanked. When the creature was inside, he pushed it towards Moth, who promptly whacked it over the head and got to work, bandages now put to a more nefarious purpose.

“No elaborate plan this time?” Hon Dör commented, looking at the downed guard with satisfaction in her voice.

“Not much of a point if opportunities are going to be handed to us on a silver platter,” Loki said, leant down and removed a sword from the guard’s sheathe, then patted the inert body for more weapons. His search only yielded a small knife, which he kept, but the longer blade was passed on to Hon Dör. “Know how to wield this?”

She huffed, grabbed the hilt and twirled the blade with ease. “I lead a rebellion against the Mad Giant. I can use a sword.”

Moth stood from the thoroughly bound guard, walked to them, a smile on their face. “Let us get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Loki ran a finger over the small knife’s edge, then stuffed it into his belt. He strode to the door and poked his head out, checked both ways, then turned back to the other two. “We must find my brother. He’s tall, blue eyes and long, blonde hair. If I was the Grandmaster, interrupting that fight would be a capital offense. Hon Dör, do you know the way to the hall?”

She thought for a moment, but then nodded and sheathed the sword decisively. “I’m a trusted messenger. We won’t have to fight if we don’t look armed.”

Loki slowly nodded, adjusted his knife to be hidden beneath his overcoat and then stared pointedly at the long blade protruding from Hon Dör’s robe-like clothing. It was almost large enough to be a greatsword for her, short as she was. “How do you plan on-”

Mask tilted in such a way that it was impossible to mistake the _look_ she must have been shooting at him, Hon Dör twisted the fabric wrapping her body, shoved the pommel beneath her shoulder. And suddenly there were no flashes of silver to give the sword away, only a suspicious-looking bump running down her side, but bored, half asleep guards wouldn’t notice it. Especially if they were all as incompetent as the ones they had encountered so far.

Seemingly ready, the group set off.

Hon Dör in the lead, Loki only a pace behind and Moth level with him. They walked quickly, chins up and assured that they belonged in the halls. For the first guard they passed, the Prince couldn’t help how his hand hovered over where his knife was hidden, but nothing happened. It could have been asleep standing up, for all the attention they were paid. And from there they went faster, striding down the corridors with no heed to the creatures in armour.

Loki kept his eyes from darting around, but it was an effort. Because all it would take to completely bust their escape was someone with half a brain to see them. If they recognised them as gladiators and knew that Hon Dör wasn’t supposed to be out. Or for the guard they had knocked out to be found, tied up in their cell. That would be quite incriminating. Hopefully, all three of them would be off-world by the time it woke and started yelling.

Each step closer to the hall brought more people. Crowds of them in ridiculous, over-the-top outfits he hazily remembered from his first day on this forsaken planet. Skin on show and decorative armour, with swords so exaggeratedly large there was no true use for them. Even with all these eyes, there was no suspicion at all. With the armour and robes and Moth’s embroidered loincloth, they blended into the fools, resplendent in gold and red and silver and precious stones.

Against all logic and any assumptions that the Grandmaster’s hired help had brain cells, they made it.

No complications. Not even a second glance and Loki wanted to laugh. He, Moth and Hon Dör stood before the doors, where the tyrant was supposed to be. Where his brother should be.

Except… He had predicted that based on what _he_ would do in the Grandmaster’s place. And the Grandmaster was utterly insane. Unlike Loki, who had _previously_ been utterly insane, but he thought he’d improved a little. At least past the whole ‘I’ll-make-everyone-my-slaves’ phase, which this bastard still seemed to be stuck in.

So. What would an absolute madman do? With Thor, who’d apparently held his own against the Hulk, supposedly the most powerful fighter the tyrant had.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Loki hissed.

Hon Dör was at the doors, but glanced back. The guards seemed to suddenly become aware and stared at them.

Moth placed a hand on his shoulder, “Luke?”

He felt like slapping himself in the face. “I’m an idiot.”

“What?” Hon Dör had turned completely, shot a look towards the guards and tensed.

“The Grandmaster is absolutely batshit crazy, yes?”

Around him, crowds of chattering sycophants came to a halt at his rather loud proclamation, during a chance lull in conversation. Which conveniently occurred the _moment_ he spoke.

“... Yes,” Moth said after a beat. A beat so silent you could hear the bangles jangling on a creature’s arm as its hand covered its gaping mouth.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have said that here?” Hon Dör hissed under her breath.

But Loki was thinking. “And, since he’s mad as a bag of cats, he won’t execute Thor via melt stick for a _capital offense_. Oh no. That would be too sane!” He laughed. “No. If he made _me_ a gladiator for killing his lover in front of him, then he will _certainly_ make Thor one.”

“ _Great_ ,” Hon Dör glanced at the guards again, who had their hands hovering over weapon hilts. “We should go.”

Loki snorted. “Probably.”

And, needing no more communication, they were running. Behind them, yells as the guards stopped being useless and uncertain, gave chase. Crowd parting before them, they fled. Hon Dör sprinted ahead, fastest and the Prince came in second, with the lumbering, green giant behind him, but not by far. Despite their bulk, Moth could move when they wanted.

“Where,” Loki gasped in a breath, heaved it out as he pumped his legs, boots tapping loudly on the hard stone. “Are we,” He pulled in more air. His steps were sharp enough to be heard over the guards yelling futilely behind them. “Going?” He was in better shape, but sprinting and talking had never been easy.

“The Champion’s chamber!” She yelled back without breaking stride. Or pausing for breath. Loki scowled. “If he was deemed such a brilliant fighter, then he is allowed to be escorted for socialising. And, if he wanted to talk to the Champion-”

“He would,” A gasp for air. “Be allowed to,” Another. “Visit him.”

“Exactly!” Hon Dör was suddenly running backwards and Loki wanted to rip those legs off. How was she faster than him? She was _tiny_! Instead of the more violent option, he snarled and put on a burst of speed.

Apparently, it was a long way to the Hulk’s room, because even after what had to be half an hour of running, slowly transitioning to a jog, Hon Dör showed no signs of slowing. Loki huffed, but kept on, legs starting to ache.

Which, thankfully, was the moment they arrived at the door.

The smallest, yet bafflingly fastest, arrived first and pounded on the door, throwing her weight against the metal. Then with a frustrated yell, she kicked the door and clang of metal on metal reverberated in the corridor. “Open-”

It slid smoothly into the walls, revealing a certain woman blocking their entrance.

Scrapper 142.

Loki balked, then sped up, barrelled straight into the Asgardian. “You _bitch_!!” He yelled as she was shoved away from the now-open doorway, shock on her face. Behind him, Moth and Hon Dör shot into the room and hastily worked the keypad, closing it. Then promptly whacked it until sparks began to fly just as angry shouting could be heard from outside.

And suddenly, Loki was no longer straddling Scrapper 142, but was being pinned against the wall, blade at his throat and a furious face centimetres from his own. “You filthy Jötunn.”

“At least I didn’t abandon my kind to die,” With a shout, the blade was pressing forward, but her eyes were unfocused, blurred with rage and Loki knocked it aside, gripped the wrist and wrenched, felt muscles relax and brought up his other hand, grabbed the knife and shoved at her shoulders. Enough to get some space for his leg to come up and kick her away.

But his foot connected with only air. Got a glimpse of furious features and then hands were about his neck, constricting, his trachea crushed beneath steel thumbs and he couldn’t breathe. Loki could feel his mouth working, muscles tensing. And then he brought his arms above his head, lined elbows up to hers and they pistoned down, breaking her grip. Spun away and brought up the knife in a guard before she could move back in.

“You know _nothing_ of that,” She was hissing, hair in a mess, strands escaping her braid and twisting in the air.

Loki grinned in response. “So I was right. You _are_ a coward. I couldn’t be sure why you survived, of course, but thank you for the _clarificatio-_ ”

A blur and she was engaging again, a hand out to grab his wrist, but she never reached him.

Because a giant, muscular arm wrapped about her middle, just as a similar - although green - one grabbed Loki by the shoulder, forcibly enough that he couldn’t move.

“Enough!” That was Thor’s voice. And he was reminded why they were here in the first place.

Loki snarled and shrugged away Moth’s grip. But he felt the sudden explosion of rage slip away. “Fuck you,” He hissed at Valkyrie, though without the venom of before. He was exhausted and shocked and _empty_. What had to be only hours ago, if that, he had been lying on colourful gravel. Dying. His supposedly-dead brother metres away, miraculously returned to life whilst his slipped away and Loki just didn’t have the _energy_ for this. “Now help us escape.”

“... _What_?!”

“Help us escape. Do your ears need healing?”

“Why would I help _you_?” Eyebrows raised almost into her hairline, but the expression, incredulity mixed with disgust, was more encouraging than the previous sanity-void anger. He could work with that.

“Not me. My brother,” Loki gestured, keeping his face an emotionless slate. No matter what had happened - the arena, his inadequacies, thinking said brother was dead - they needed to get out of here. Everything else took a back seat. “Thor. Son of Odin Borsson and Frigga Fjorgynnsdottir. Crown Prince of Asgard.”

Her eyes widened slightly. So she hadn’t known. Loki suppressed his smirk.

“You are a Valkyrie. Asgard is in peril and her King calls upon you for service, through his son and heir.”

But the classic Æsir patriotism he had been counting on was void in her expression. “Were. I _was_ a Valkyrie. Not anymore.” The last vestiges of rage left her, leaving the line of her shoulders softer and eyes downcast. Thor’s arm uncurled, staring at her in surprise. “Royals have done nothing for me, even when we gave our _lives_. Why would I help you?”

Loki opened his mouth to respond, but Thor was already talking. “It will not happen again. But right now… We don’t even know what she _is_.”

“ _She_?”

“Women can be credible threats to Asgard! I am well aware that f-”

A sigh from Valkyrie and Loki shared her sentiment. Which was rather detestable, that he agreed with her, but Thor was always quite polarising. Especially when he put his foot in his mouth and proceeded to chew.

“The threat you two are scared of is a woman?” The hint of a smile which had tugged at the corner of her lips had morphed into another frown, but this time her brow was furrowed with worry. “Did she use magic? Summon weapons? Ice cold eyes and-”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“ _Hela_.”

Loki felt his eyebrows pulling towards his hairline despite himself. “How?”

A bark of laughter. “That bastard of a King really didn’t tell you anything? Claimed our victories as his own!”

Thor started to glare, his mouth opened but this time, Loki was first. “Didn’t tell us what?”

“The Great Conquest. When Odin All-bastard conquered the Nine Realms, gaining power over them and completing the challenge set out by the Norns since the beginnings of Time itself… Like a bunch of pompous, drunk teenagers!” Valkyrie’s head tipped back as she spoke, stared down her nose at Loki then turned to glower up at Thor. “You thought he did that by _himself_?”

Again, Thor made as if to speak, but when the younger Prince gave a miniscule shake of his head, slowly closed it again with a wary look in his narrowed eyes. Then promptly ignored his better judgement. “That is what we were taught.”

“You were taught wrong. Unbelievably,” Glanced back at Loki, promptly strode away from the others and leant against a wall, fishing a bottle from an alcove he hadn’t even noticed. Took a swig and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. “He had help. A lot of it. The Valkyries, Ljosalfar, turning their backs on their sister race. And Hela. His daughter.”

Loki felt the gasp in his throat and locked his lips to keep it in, but Thor couldn’t suppress his. “She’s our sister?” The elder Prince managed to say through clenched teeth. “No. We would’ve known.”

But Loki could see the truth on her face. “Thor. It makes sense.”

No response.

“We wreaked havoc on the Nine Realms together. All of us. Bane of the Nine.” Brown eyes stared at the opposite wall, glossed over. Years upon years of ignoring and blocking out this truth crumbling down inside. “But Hela was greedy. After taking Jötunhei-. Something changed. She turned on us. Killed and rampaged across Yggdrasil. Odin banished her. If she’s _back…_ Not good.”

Loki ran a hand through his hair. Then brought a knuckle to his mouth and bit down, too exhausted to really have a reaction to this new information. “I already guessed _that_ ,” He said after a beat. “If Odin banished her, how did she escape? That should be impossible.”

A snort and shrug. “I’m a warrior, not an ergi.”

And before his anger could burst into flame again, there was disgruntled rumbling from deeper in the chamber and Loki jolted back to himself, returning from puzzling over how this new information fit together. Did it explain Frigga? His childhood? How to break Odin’s binding of his magic?

On the other side of the door they had come in through, angry _bang_ s reverberated and dents were already visible on the metal. Thankfully, whatever his cellmates had done to the keypad kept it shut. However, the more concerning noise in that moment was the unfortunately familiar stomping of feet.

Loki had known, in the back of his mind, that this was a confrontation which was inevitable. But he’d been distracted by Valkyrie, the entire having a (adopted) sister revelation. And then the usual gobsmacking sight of Thor being not-dead. Which his thoughts seemed to do backflips over every second he remembered it. Damned sentimentality.

But before the Hulk could make his appearance from the darkness of the doorway, there was a more friendly green form in front of him. Large, scarred arms crossed over their chest, Moth planted themself firmly in front of Loki, back straight and shoulders back until there seemed to be a wall of muscle before him. And a small smile curled across Loki’s face. It was nice to be protected, even if unnecessarily. He wasn’t a child!

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Valkyrie and Thor both looking rather incredulous, but there wasn’t time to ponder it, as the Hulk made his entrance.

“Hulk was sleeping,” The cavernous mouth said, and suddenly Loki decided that his newly acquired meat shield was not at _all_ unnecessary but was, in fact, very much a necessity. And if he had to accept being treated as a child, so be it. “Why you all loud?”

Thor grinned and walked up to his supposed friend. “Hulk. Remember me? We’re buddies from work!”

A slow frown, then even slower recognition. “Puny god?”

“No. That’s him,” And the bastard pointed towards where Loki was _not_ cowering behind Moth. “I’m his brother. And an Avenger. You and me? We’re friends.”

Thankfully, there was no age-long pause whilst he considered this time. “You are friends with Banner. Not Hulk.”

“No! Ban- _Hulk_!” Thor looked rather scandalised, but Hon Dör and Valkyrie both seemed quite amused by the situation. “We need to get out of here. And you’re from Earth. _So_ , since we’re such good friends, you’re going to take us to the quinjet!” When there was no immediate response, the fake smile crumbled a bit at the edges, revealing true panic beneath. “Right?”

Loki wanted to roll his eyes and claim disgust for how his brother was (terribly) attempting to leverage his friendship. Mainly because that’s what Thor would do whenever it was him pouring his last vestiges of calm and collected into a smile in the hopes that someone would help him. But he didn't have the energy. Nor the bitterness, to his surprise. It seemed he had cried and slept and ran it all out.

Instead of the answer Thor was likely hoping for, Hulk’s unnaturally green eyes focused in on Loki, so tall he towered over Moth and could peer over their shoulder to stare down at him. “Puny god,” He said again, but this time to the right person. “You hurt friends.”

“I-” Loki really hadn’t been planning on actually conversing with the beast. But he wouldn’t _stammer_ in the face of a mortal! Albeit a rather odd one. “And you bit off my finger.”

A pause.

A rather shocked pause. He could see Thor out the corner of his eye, mouthing at him, trying to gesture subtly and utterly failing.

But his head wasn’t wrenched from his shoulders and the large face crinkled with disgust. “That what it was. You tasted bad,” He simply commented and turned away, back to Thor.

Somewhere on the other side of Moth’s body, his brother, Valkyrie and Hulk talked. Loki tried to tune in; to eavesdrop if nothing else, but found that suddenly small hands were on his forearms and he was being tugged to look downwards. Hon Dör’s mask, dirty and cracked, stared back up at him.

“Are you okay?” She asked, voice hushed and back purposefully to the others.

Loki blinked, then nodded after a pause. “Are you?” He glanced at where his impromptu bodyguard had now turned to regard him, face unusually stony.

“Yes,” Moth replied and Hon Dör dipped her head. “We will need the Champion to escape, if your brother is right…”

“Thor. His name is Thor.”

Behind her mask, the short woman was watching him shrewdly. “I don’t trust him. Well. Not to get us out of here at least.”

Loki glanced down at her and let a smirk spread across his face. “I have a backup plan, just stick close.”

With that, he broke away from them and strode to the huddle of Hulk, Valkyrie and Thor. They were, predictably, planning to brute force their way to the quinjet. And then brute force the fragile mortal technology into working.

“You’re a Prince. Can you even fight?” Valkyrie was saying, her tone semi-serious and Thor’s face seemed to invent a new shade of red.

But, to Loki’s surprise, he laughed instead of exploding in rage. “If you’re so doubtful, we can have a warm up.”

Actually, the explosion of rage would have been better. He had faith in his brother’s ability, but against a Valkyrie? Whilst said Valkyrie was useful to their escape?

“Didn’t you realise? There’s a window,” Loki interrupted, before the two inflated egos could clash further. “We can scale the walls.”

All three stared at him. He sighed. “Going through the front door won’t work, unless one of them decides to suddenly turn traitor. Therefore, the window.”

Thor raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see a window.”

“That’s because it’s in the other room. Use your brain. He,” Loki gestured, “Is the Champion. Therefore, luxuries like the window.”

Valkyrie shrugged. “Not wrong. But the big fella isn’t very nimble.”

Loki snorted. “He can climb skyscrapers, don’t you worry.” He then proceeded to investigate the adjoining room. Smirked when he saw the large, wall-sized pane of glass.

It overlooked the entire city, showcasing spiraling towers and what had to be the ring, rising as a block of raw metal. Flashes glimmered over it and beams of light shot into the greying heavens, overcast with clouds. It was late evening and Loki looked up at the sky he hadn’t seen for far too long. There had been the opportunity, of course, in the arena… But no time.

In the reflection, he watched as others entered and Thor walked over, stood beside him. Gazed out on the sprawling mess of shimmering metal and bold colours. He sighed and the glass misted over, condensation fogging the glass.

“He bit off your finger? _When_?” Thor said. It wasn’t quite caring, more bewildered. Not a return to how before this mess. Before Midgard and the Void and the damned Frost Giants, how his brother would ask about every scrape and bruise. Would patch the smallest scratch up, even if his younger brother protested. Not in the presence of his friends, but after they were asleep, Thor would often be at Loki’s side, shaking him awake through the sleeping bag and proffering his little bag of ointments and bandages. Even though whatever mark he was concerned for was usually no more than a little red blemish by that point. “Loki?”

He glanced over at the slightly taller Asgardian and summoned a rueful smile. “Just before a certain oaf dropped in. It’s the smallest one.”

When Thor glared at him in the reflection, Loki sighed, but the wry expression gradually became genuine and he proffered his right hand for inspection. Slowly, his brother peeled away the bandages and he hid a wince. Because he had forgotten that it was an illusion maintaining his appearance. And that, with his finger now a stump, it would be damaged.

But the expected recoil of disgust didn’t happen and Loki glanced over at his brother. He probably looked quite anxious, a small part of him worried, but he was too focused on how Thor - monster hating, Jötunn slaying _Thor_ \- was simply studying the injury. Despite how his entire hand, pretty much, had turned that revolting colour.

It hurt, a bit, and the rough fingertips were far too hot. As he studied his brother’s face, he winced in pain whenever he touched the truly blue areas, but otherwise his features were blank. Loki was almost impressed - Thor had finally learnt how to hide his thoughts.

His hand was flipped over and there was finally an expression - eyebrows raised, Thor looked up at him. “What’s this?” He gestured to the rune etched into Loki’s palm.

It was raised, faint purple-white lines in a twisting knot that spread from the heel to where fingers joined his hand.

With a tug, he attempted to break the older Prince’s hold, but found that there was a fist about his wrist and it was tight enough to grind bones together.

“ _Loki_ …” There was a threatening note to Thor’s voice. “Is this some blood magic attempt at circumventing father’s binding? I have warned you and _warned you_ about betraying m-”

“Shut it!” Suddenly there was a small form between them. Hon Dör’s small but strong fingers pried Thor’s hand from Loki’s, flinching back on contact with the latter’s skin, but persevered until Loki could pull his arm completely away. He stepped back, relieved, and swiftly bound it again, hiding the skin and scar and stump from view. “If you think Luke has some secret power at the moment, you are _sorely_ mistaken. I don’t know much about these ‘Realms’ that you both are from, but it’s fucking insane and I’m sick of it.” She heaved in a breath and straightened her back. It was hilarious, in a vaguely hysterical way, to see such a small being giving Thor, Prince of Asgard, a dressing down. But with the hysteria and exhaustion mixing in his stomach, Loki had to swallow down laughter. “And he won’t tell you this, but he was worried absolutely sick about you. Wouldn’t think about anything else. He has been working towards getting off this forsaken planet to _save you_ since he got here. Shut it and stop being a dickwad!”

Above Hon Dör’s head, Loki’s brother looked rather gobsmacked. His mouth hung a little open and his eyebrows seemed to be expressing a desire to join his hairline. “I-… Is this true?”

Loki blinked. Shrugged. “It’s just an illusion rune, Thor. I wouldn’t trust me if I were you, but no more lies; I want to get back to Asgard.” He hesitated for a moment, however, when the incredulous and slightly paranoid expression didn’t fade, he continued. “It’s my home too which you don’t seem to remember.”

Slowly, the Crown Prince nodded, acceptance beginning to replace suspicion on his face. At least this newfound ability to hide his emotions was unpracticed.

Then Valkyrie evidently decided to break the fresh silence and strode over to the window, sparing the Princes nothing more than a curious glance, and started searching the glass for cracks.

Which reminded Loki of something. “Deactivate the obedience disk.”

She glanced up at him and snorted. “I’m already helping you leave. Why would I do that, too?”

“From the generosity of your clearly bottomless heart,” He smiled sweetly and she responded with the same expression.

“Why, you _flatter_ me, Sir Savage!”

“And you are my equal in such, I assure you. Now, since I’m pretty _desperate_ to get out of here, you’re going to deactivate the shock collars before we find out how savage being ‘particularly small’ made me,” Loki grinned widely. It was always satisfying to remind people of their words.

She eyed him for a moment. “You’ve got some issues, Luke,” She said, but fished out the fob and a beep resounded, then the clink of metal hitting the floor. Loki unconsciously rubbed his fingertips against the now-bare skin at his temple. Then he gave a mocking bow, made sure to thoroughly ignore her comment and stalked off.

Hon Dör and Moth were talking quietly, shooting glances at the others every so often and Loki joined them with a weary sigh.

“Is everyone in the Nine Realms that racist?” Hon Dör said, shock evident in her voice.

Loki glanced down at her, somewhat surprised. “You don’t have animals used in children’s bedtime stories?”

“... Of course we do, but they’re _fictional_.”

When he looked to Moth for clarification, they nodded somberly. “What I remember from my planet before the Behemoth is that our childrens’ monsters were made up.”

“This is so fucked up,” Hon Dör declared, but without enthusiasm, as if saying it simply because she _had_ to.

His lips quirked up, bemused. “And why do you care?”

“Because it’s wrong. It’s wrong and disgusting-”

But he never got to hear just what her reasoning would be, as there was a phenomenally large _bang_. Screeching of metal against metal and sudden stamping of boots, far too loud. Inside the chamber.

Loki hissed; he’d thought they had more time! He was in the centre of the room, in a desperate and thoughtless move to help Valkyrie with the window, but guards were flooding in before he could make it.

He turned to face the horde pouring through the doorway with a grumbled oath.

A strangely familiar stout woman was first through, box-like face sour and pinched. Slitted eyes and short stature aside, she was imposing and seemed to fill the room despite its size. Her gaze roamed the area and no one moved, as if that would help. But when she locked eyes with Loki, recognition flickered.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the late upload of this chapter! I couldn't bring myself to edit it at the weekend, since the lockdown is now in full swing here in the UK and that is making my brain very annoyed.
> 
> Anyway; I hope you liked this chapter, especially since some of you have wanted Honnie to stand up to Thor :D The next two chapters are bloody long and the last one (13th) is currently being re-written since it wasn't good enough and I'm very glad I started re-writing it (it's much better now). However, that means the last chapter may be a bit late, but I'll make sure that the 12th isn't.
> 
> Also, can I just say that the lack of annoyed people complaining about the use of they/them pronouns for Moth is making my little queer heart very happy. Thank you!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated :)


	12. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been looking forward to posting this since writing it! I am so excited for this chapter I'm posting it many hours ahead of time. But guess what? It's technically Sunday (althought only by an hour).
> 
> Trigger Warning: violence. Again! :3 There are more warnings, but they're pertaining to violence and definitely a spoiler. If you're iffy about it, it's in the end AN so scroll down and check. Otherwise; off ya go :)

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


“You,” The woman said and pointed an imperious finger tip at Loki’s chest and he blinked.

“ _Me_?”

A derisive snort. “Yes.”

Something was nagging him, about her. He had seen her before… “Topaz?” He eventually said and did his best to hide the uncertainty in his voice.

An almost smile. “Yes. And you killed Hiroim.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, slightly more confident. “That depends on whether you two were friends.”

“He was a bastard and a puff. And I was about to off him anyway”

“Then I most certainly killed him,” Loki plastered on a charming expression. “In cold blood, actually. Knife right between the clavicles.” Somewhere behind him, the deathly silence was broken by shuffling feet.

The two opposing sides stood facing each other, Loki’s smile became strained, showing too many teeth, skin stretching further until his face hurt. But then Topaz nodded; a miniscule dip of the head. “You have one minute.”

Loki watched her for a moment, but there was no deception that he could see or hear. “Let’s go,” He said over his shoulder. When no one moved, he turned on his heel and gestured furiously. “Go! _Now_!”

Finally, the dimwits began running. He waited for them to pass, brought up the rear with Moth’s large face peering at him even as they ran. Loki was at the door, then he glanced back at Topaz, “Thanks.”

She was smiling slightly, in a cruel and cold way. “Fifty seconds.”

Loki grinned back, this time purposefully putting too many teeth on display. “You will wish you’d kept them,” And he was off.

It took moments to catch up and from behind Moth he could barely make out the procession’s order, except for Hulk’s massive back in what appeared to be the front, Valkyrie’s brown hair whipping along at his side. Then Thor’s head, a flash of pale, blue and gold was just visible over a large shoulder, they locked eyes then he was facing forwards again, running.

Pulled in a deep lungful of air and Loki’s feet were pounding against the metal, boots tapping and arms pumping as his exhausted body fought to keep up. Why did escaping have to include so much sprinting and fleeing and general physical activity?

Up ahead, the clattering of metal. Shouting. Guards? But not to worry, apparently, as Loki ducked back from a _limb_ as it flew through the air, spraying red across the walls and his face. After it soared the rest of a body, clad in armour and remaining arm clutching a sword. He was screaming, almost comically, and when he smashed into a wall and slid to the floor, leaving another streak of red, it was with a wet _splat_ and the yelling cut out.

Loki let out a bark of laughter and continued, rubbed at his face in a futile attempt to wipe away the splattered blood, but only succeeded in smearing it around. Some got in his mouth and he spat it out.

Screaming and roaring. A giant, green arm was flung upwards, guard held by the feet in a fist until he wasn’t and sent crashing upwards to _crack_ into the metal ceiling. Once the corpse started to fall back down, Loki could see a dent in the metal.

As he ran, more and more there were uncountable bodies littering the floor, blood turning it slippery until he was holding out his arms to the walls, just in case. It seemed that, only a few metres ahead of him, the Hulk was ripping through a wall of combatants. _Literally_ ripping through them, he noted as a curl of intestine somehow wrapped about his leg. The dying body let out a rough gasp, knife still in hand. With a wrench, he ripped what remained of the ropey ofal away and continued running.

But then the convoy slowed. To a jog, then a walk and Loki was nervously glancing behind him. A battle on two fronts was _not_ a good idea, especially in a corridor.

Roaring, but this time not from the Hulk. Over Moth’s shoulder, he could see Thor’s golden head swaying and bobbing as he fought. Brown braids swished through the air, followed by the gleam of a blade and Loki shoved past the green, scarred gladiator. Two knives, one for each hand and he stared.

The corridor was wide enough for two to walk abreast, but only two average-sized people. Hulk was in the front, essentially blocking the way with his massive body, yelling and screaming bloody murder as his fists swung this way and that. Guards were only just starting to get past him, dodging under arms and clambering over his body when it was pinned by their sheer weight in numbers. Just behind him, Valkyrie was wielding a sword with deadly accuracy, face pinched in concentration. Then came Thor, weaponless but no less fatal for it, holding off the few which had made it past the other two before him.

But as Loki watched, the Hulk seemed to _stumble_. He could just make out, on the other side, a horde of guards standing practically on top of each other, shoving and pushing and with chains in hand, looped over his wrists and knees and shoulders, pulling and pushing until he was unbalanced.

And as the Hulk fell, more poured past him.

Just in front of Loki, Hon Dör was staring up what appeared almost as a wave of armour, bearing down on them. “Oh _shit_ ,” She hissed and the sword was procured, flourished and held up in a guard, both hands wrapped tight about the handle.

Loki huffed out a breath. “Agreed.”

Moth had a hand on his shoulder, had pushed him to the side and was suddenly grasping at Hon Dör, almost lifting her up but the horde was there.

In a moment, there was nothing but Moth’s large green back to be seen. And the flashing blades and guns and beams of energy everywhere. Loki gripped his knives and was fighting. About him, the deafening yells of guards, cutting out or morphing into a gurgle as he worked, bodies like wet cardboard that he sliced through.

They fought back to back, time seeming to slow and stretch about him, blades whirring to parry and stab and whatever else was required to keep him alive, _alive just one moment more alive-_

Everything boiled down to that. No awareness for anything else. He was aware - so aware - of the air slicing past him, the millimeters between a blade and his neck, even the iron smell and taste of blood in the air. It was all so sharp and pressing in, as if an electric current had been connected to his nerves.

A flash and red, arcing through the air for his head. Mesmerising, the bolt of energy soared through space he had been moments prior, splashed harmlessly into a wall. The guard that had fired it was close. Loki pounced upon him, from his previous position - blades up, pushing back against a sword aimed for his neck. Up close and personal, the far taller creature’s collarbone at eye height. Both daggers plunged into the skin under his breastplate, up into lungs and out again in a rush to duck, a puff of air his only warning. Whilst they screamed, he was utterly silent but for the swish of fabric and squeak of metal on metal. An axe head chopped into the breastplate, brushing his shorn hair, caving it in and sticking there. Before he could retaliate, there was a spear to knock away, a poleaxe to grab and snap and he was just reacting.

React, react, react. Whenever there was an opportunity, his daggers dipped in and out, making guards into corpses until he couldn’t move without tripping, not to mention how the blood coated everything, a slippery carpet of gore.

Scream. But a familiar one.

“Oh shit. Fuck- _fuck-fuck_!!”

Moth at Loki’s back was suddenly further away and he scrambled backwards. They couldn’t be surrounded. That was death.

Then he and Moth were separated, but not by more guards. With what little attention he could spare, he recognised the small form now between them. She was curled in on herself, mask no longer white but grey with dirt, brown and red with blood. Fresh and drying.

Turned back to the fight just in time, bent to the side and avoided a diagonal slice downwards. Would have cleaved him in two.

Now he had a little bit of distance. Or seeing Hon Dör collapsed on the floor had somewhat broken him from the battle stupor and he could see there were less. It _felt_ like there were less, at least.

The knife’s edge his senses had taken on dissipated.

“Hon Dör?” He called over his shoulder, reluctant to let the guards out of sight. No reply. He counted them. Only five remaining - certainly less. “Hon Dör?”

“Y-yeah. I’m good. Just get th-those bloody shit-headed, _bastard-_!”

Loki didn’t hear more of what seemed to be an impressive train of expletives. Roaring and charging; his short respite was over.

But whatever she had said, and was still saying, had evidently enraged them for the swings were wide and Loki could step into them, drag his knives through fabric and flesh, twist away to knock aside blades and get behind another guard, cut through tendons and arteries.

And then they were gone.

The last fell with a thump.

A quick scan and all looked very dead; no more appeared around the distant corner. Loki turned, sheathed his daggers and dropped into a crouch beside Hon Dör. “What happened?” He was asking, the cries of battle continuing around. Evidently, he had had less to deal with than the rest of their merry band.

Her head was leant against the wall and there was far more blood than he remembered seeing when she was first wounded. Hon Dör made a weak gesture and he could see tears on her neck, dripping down, creating clean tracks of skin. Loki followed where her finger had vaguely pointed. And stared. Because her legs ended just above her knees.

“That’s not good,” He whispered. “Moth. _Moth_!”

Not as many cries now. And the green gladiator seemed to have finished with their lot and bent down, almost immediately seeing what was wrong. But they didn’t look nearly as concerned as they should have.

“She’ll bleed out. I don’t know how to dress _amputation_!”

They just shook their head. “She won’t. I have a leg, the other was bent beyond use. Can I refit it?”

“She’s not a bloody android you utter _buffoon_!!”

A weak laugh and Loki glanced down at Hon Dör. “Look at that! You _do_ care.”

He scowled. “I am offended by the _idiocy_ more than anything you pair of useless pri-”

“Double amputee, Luke. Not going to bleed out, _you_ utter buffoon.” He could hear the smirk in her voice and Loki wanted to slap himself.

Moth proffered the leg, she nodded, and he only got a glance before they were attaching it. A long strip of metal, probably supposed to be white but badly stained by dirt and blood. It looked nothing like a leg, and whatever machinery had been present before it was ripped off seemed to have stopped working and the joint was now bent, about fifty degrees. Once it was fastened on, the robes, now ripped, hid it completely from sight. No wonder he hadn't noticed.

Loki raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. But it did explain her unnatural speed despite being so short.

“The prosthetics aren’t made small enough for pinky fingers. Sorry,” Hon Dör said, her voice laden with pain but still making an effort to be light.

He shrugged and glanced back the way they had come. Still no followers. Topaz couldn’t be far off - they’d had more than a minute now. “We need to move…”

“Genius intellect you have there, Luke,” Hon Dör gasped as she slowly righted herself and began to stand, balancing precariously. After a moment, Moth’s arm wrapped under her shoulders, leaning over uncomfortably to accommodate her shorter stature.

Finally, the guards seemed to be all gone and progress started again, though far slower than before. Loki took up the rear once more, looking over his shoulder every few paces. They picked over bodies and parts of them until the floor was clear. A corner and, before turning it, Loki glanced back at the massacre. It spread along most of the corridor and footprints trailed from it, one set ending at his feet.

Then, just as he was about to continue walking, he saw a glint of armour at the opposite end. And it wasn’t on the floor, but standing, walking. Squat and broad, coated in gold, though not flashy.

“Time’s up!” She yelled down the corridor.

Loki was running before her words had finished echoing. Thor was looking back at him. Checking for a betrayal, most likely. “Topaz just rounded the corner.”

“They aren’t far behind. Let’s go,” Valkyrie said after a moment, voice grim. She shot a calculating glance at Hon Dör, who was slowing them considerably, but then Moth caught her eye and a scowl came over their face, which seemed to open deep, dark crags in the emerald green skin and their eyes narrowed into slits. Loki rather agreed with the expression. She quickly looked away. “Hurry.”

Moth dipped their head, then glanced down at Hon Dör. Loki resisted the urge to peer around the corner. “When will that heal?” He asked, distracted.

“I… _Months_. Irrelevant, don’t you think?”

Moth reached down without warning and grabbed her, one arm wrapped gently about her thighs and the other supporting her back until they swiftly swung her into a bridal style carry. She hissed and more tears slid onto her neck from beneath the mask.

And they were trotting along. Each couple of steps, Hon Dör would flinch and Loki found himself wanting to distract her. “I didn’t even notice you had prosthetics,” He finally said, in between glancing behind them every few seconds.

“I was a Princess. Only the best,” She huffed out a sigh, bent her head to the side and pressed her forehead into Moth’s chest. “ _Fuck_ , that hurts.”

Loki wasn’t good at comforting people. He never had the need to. “You’ll heal,” He offered. Looked back again. No-one was visibly in pursuit just yet, but he could now hear the echoing footsteps of what seemed like an entire army.

“We will get you out of this,” Moth said, their attempt sounding far more reassuring than Loki’s. “Hang on.”

“Hanging,” She replied, terse with pain.

But it didn’t take long. They only encountered a few more guards, which were promptly torn to shreds by the Hulk.

Then they exited the building.

It was through a side entrance, evidently completely unused and even the alley it opened up onto was utterly deserted. Loki was the last to exit and, despite the awful smell, took in a deep breath and allowed himself to indulge in staring up at the sky, dark and overcast, but _there_.

He stood stock still but only for a moment. They ran down the alley, Hulk in the lead. Bustling streets and Loki was about to denounce them for fools, running out into a busy city with someone who was essentially a celebrity. But then there was a cloth being shoved into his hand, Valkyrie glowering at him for a moment, then handing out more. Above them, a clothesline hung empty.

Wrapped in bedsheets and blankets, the Hulk was far less imposing. And hopefully less recognisable, too.

No time to plan, they were off again, like a procession of the homeless as they slouched through street after street. People wore elaborate costumes and even face paint. Every few steps, Loki was bumped and shoved, but he was far more worried about the Hulk. He didn’t trust the beast to keep his anger under control.

Against the odds, they made it. All of them, with no complications. Remarkable.

At the outskirts of the city, they slowly removed their makeshift disguises and walked out onto a massive mound of rubbish. It towered above them, a mountain range of refuse, with a stench that explained how deserted the city fringe was. High up and far below, small crowds of urchins picked over the newer pieces, occasionally crouching to inspect whatever they found.

“It’s in there?” Thor asked, and there was no need to see his face to know he looked mildly disgusted.

Hulk shrugged noncommittally and Valkyrie sighed. “Let’s get started.”

It didn’t take them as long as Loki had feared, but they were trawling through the muck for far too long, since even a moment spent in such a dump was almost unbearable. What truly worried him was the vessel they were trying to find. A mortal contraption, which had somehow made its way to Sakaar? Through space and most likely a portal… It couldn’t be in good shape and, unlike the Hulk, he and Thor weren’t invincible. They could survive unprotected in the depths of space for periods of time, which had been proven when Loki didn't perish to the Void... But stay sane and conscious enough to pilot a ship? No.

When they found it, Valkyrie yelled from the crown of a hill, looked down at the rest, spread out over the heap. She waved her arm a couple of times once heads had turned in her direction and disappeared over the top, into some nook in the hill.

Loki scrambled upwards, Moth carefully treading along behind him, Hon Dör held almost above his head to keep her from touching the germ-covered rubbish. If she contracted a disease from here, there was nothing they would be able to do to save her. Short of Odin miraculously gaining a conscience and returning Loki’s connection to Yggdrasil.

Once he arrived at the top, Hulk had already slipped down the other side, uncaring for the sharp shards of metal and rotting food. Thor was already standing at the lip, staring down. More of the same; miles upon miles of dull gunmetal with scraps of discordant colour spread amongst the wreckage. And nestled between a giant boulder and the ribcage of some long-extinct creature was the quinjet.

Thor glanced across at him. “At least it’s actually here,” He commented blithely, with a half-smile which Loki couldn’t tell if it was real or forced.

“Perhaps you won’t decapitate your grandfather’s statue this time,” He said in response, tone far warmer than intended.

His brother continued watching Loki from the corner of his eye, a bemused look on his face, but when he pretended not to notice the scrutiny, Thor started on his way down the steep hill. He followed after a moment, carefully slipping down, pieces of unidentifiable rubbish tumbling away beneath his feet.

Once at the bottom, Loki glanced up to see Moth slowly following, their face scrunched in concentration. Once they made it halfway down, he strode towards the quinjet and entered through the opened ramp.

Thankfully, there didn’t seem much wrong with it, from his limited knowledge of Midgardian vehicles. No wires hung sparking from the ceiling, and he couldn’t see any obvious hull breaches. Further in, Valkyrie was just ducking into the cockpit and Thor was attempting to talk to his supposed friend.

“Moth, they’re coming!” Loki heard from outside, followed by crashing as the gladiator sped up, large feet sending pieces of metal flying as they all but ran the last few metres to the bottom of the hill.

Loki looked up, to see glinting armour at the very top, then the flash of a muzzle and he ducked back inside for a moment. Ran outside without thinking and grabbed Hon Dör from Moth, sprinted back up the ramp, ignoring how the floor next to his feet exploded. He was in and set her down, rougher than necessary.

“They’re here,” The Prince said, nearly a shout. “Valkyrie, can you close the door?”

Her head poked out of the cockpit, “These mortals can’t make a ship for shit. So no, I can’t!”

“ _Great_ ,” He hissed, glanced out the open ramp again. A few were a quarter of the way down, with more coming over the top each moment.

Hon Dör groaned as she shifted where he had set her and slowly levered herself into a chair. Moth came in from outside, burn marks and what appeared to be a small hole adorning their chest. But after a second in which they didn’t collapse, or even acknowledge the damage, Loki turned away again. Good to know that they hadn't been boasting when they claimed they were hard to kill. They knelt next to Hon Dör, bare knees thudding against metal and spoke in a hushed voice. Ripping of cloth and a whimper of pain. He looked back for a moment to see their large hands carefully binding a stump, which had only a few cuts on it, considering a prosthetic had been ripped clean off.

Without closing the door, they were _very_ vulnerable, especially Moth and Hon Dör, one without functioning legs and the other caught up in healing. Loki hissed a curse as he squeezed into the corner, where he should be safe from any projectile.

A bolt of energy whizzed through the air, splashed against the wall just above Moth’s head and they flinched, but continued bandaging, undeterred. Another muttered curse and Loki was out from cover, ran a few paces to cross the ship and grabbed onto a chair back, ripped it out with a heave and was back at the entrance.

Behind him, Thor and Hulk were huddled in a corner, his brother’s voice lifted in a pleading note. Normally, Loki would be the one trying to convince a powerful ally to their side, but he could play Thor’s role of protector, if only for a short while.

He planted himself in front of his cellmates, lifted the chair back. Since it was some form of alloy, hopefully the same as used for the walls, it should disperse energy from whatever guns the guards were using.

Shots fired and the whining of projectiles, bullets this time. With an anticipatory wince, Loki shoved the makeshift shield up and shrunk behind it, almost cowering, but the metal held. He felt pings on the other side as bullets ricocheted off. Then a higher pitch sound as he poked his head above it for a moment, only to see a bolt of green heading straight for him. Twisted to the side and it only scored his cheek.

Loki hissed but was moving again. Dancing away from the crackling lights splashing onto the floor where he had been a moment before. Brought up a hand to wipe away the fresh blood now on his cheek, mixing with caked on, dried gore from only half an hour before. But he had no time to worry about it. Blood-borne diseases were for later, if he managed to survive this.

“I could use some help!” He yelled over his shoulder, bringing up the shield again, shoulder thrown behind it as he rocked back, multiple shots hitting at once. “Unless you _want_ to be enslaved?”

Thor scowled back at him. “Without Banner, we’re not going to be able to work the ship to get out of here. You’re doing fine!”

“I am _not_ doing ‘fine’!!” Loki almost screamed back. He was too fucking tired for this. Another bolt got past the shield, but whoever fired it had terrible aim. He turned back to the hill outside, now swarming with guards, most of them with guns out but he could see some starting to pull out melee weapons. “Your death is here!” He snarled at them. Because he would slaughter every single one if he had to. _Wanted_ to.

What felt like hours, but was only minutes, then he heard a surprised gasp come from behind him.

“I-...” The voice said. High pitched with confusion and panic, but deep enough for a human man. “Sokovia! The city. Did we save it?”

“I thought you would never get through to him,” Loki snarled over his shoulder. His seat back was dented and fracturing, sharp metal biting into his hands, nearly drawing blood.

Banner was gasping on the floor, when he turned slightly to check that Thor had, in fact, succeeded. He was staring at Loki, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “You- you’re Loki! What did you do to your hair? And your face!”

Loki hissed. Turned back to the entrance. Guards were becoming less shy, and had started attacking straight-on. There was no time to swap weapons, so he was stuck whacking them over the head with a _chair_. Which wasn’t very effective, but utterly exhausting. “None of your business. Operate the ship, would you?”

“You’re a mass murderer! And alien invader!” Was the response, accompanied by shuffling backwards. Loki hadn’t the strength to hold back his snort as he leant into the chair back, ran a few steps and barged into an approaching enemy, effectively knocking them back down the ramp.

Behind him, Moth was huddled over Hon Dör, still carefully tending her wounds, but also acting as a meat shield, back now littered with open burns. If all the bolts aimed at them had hit, they would undoubtedly be dead already, but Loki wasn’t a miracle worker, and this was the first time he’d so much as touched a truly defensive weapon in centuries.

More talking from Thor and Banner, not hushed, but too quiet for him to hear over the battle. Then shuffling and dull thuds, scrape of fabric across skin and padding footsteps. Hopefully the mortal had seen sense and gone into the cockpit. Loki couldn’t keep this up much longer.

Then a loud _creak_ as another chair back was ripped from the wall and Thor was next to his brother, impromptu shield hefted. “Banner’s doing it now,” He said quickly.

“You actually got through to him?” Loki was shoved backwards for the distraction by another guard, wielding a battle axe, but swiftly kicked their legs out from under them, plunged his boot down on their head with force.

“Natasha did, she left a recording on the ship’s computer.”

A pause, filled only with quickened, panting breaths as they defended the ship’s entrance, hail of bullets and bolts and now melee attackers.

“Sokovia?” Loki managed to puff out, sweat gleaming on his forehead and dripping into his eyes.

Thor laughed, but it was more of a wheeze. “A robot wanted to wipe out all life on Earth.”

“Sounds fun,” Loki twisted, appearing to wind up before flinging his weight behind a blow, knocking straight into a guard’s face. He could hear teeth and bones cracking. “Invite me next time?”

But before that can of worms could be opened, Banner’s voice called over the battle. “It won’t fly!”

“What?” Thor yelled back.

Loki snarled, “This is why _I_ make the plans, Thor!”

“Forgive me for not trusting you,” He growled back, batted a guard aside and blocked an incoming energy bolt with barely a thought. “Banner, are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Came the reply. “There’s no way. Thrusters and hull integrity and-”

Loki didn’t hear the rest. Hon Dör was closer and far louder. “Luke, didn’t you have a back up?”

He glowered at her, but Thor had heard.

“ _Loki_?!”

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut for just another _second_?” He said, malice in his voice and brow furrowed, eyes slitted. “Yes, I have a plan, Thor. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

Loki flung his shield away, slid behind his brother and grasped him by the shoulders, felt tense muscles unyielding beneath his fingers. “Didn’t plan on using this to _fight_ , but I should have known I’d be picking up after you!”

Something from the body in front of him but the Prince ignored it, tightened his grip and concentrated. Focused inwards, past the constant ache of overexertion in his muscles, cuts and burns on his skin, the gash in his cheek and to where his magic was. Nothing seemed wrong, except for when he pulled upon it, felt it sieve through metaphysical fingers.

But now, with a connection to someone who was still strongly rooted in Yggdrasil… Loki smirked. Even if Thor didn’t practice anything remotely arcane, he was a son of Odin and Frigga, two of the most powerful magic wielders to live for millenia. His connection to the World Tree was strong, if unused. And the thousands of years they had spent together forged a chain between them, making what Loki was about to do even easier.

Shaking with anticipation, he reached into the energies of the world about them, felt how he could twist and shape them, fire and ice at his fingertips. But this time, when he wound those delicate threads into a shape and set it out to the world, they held where he placed them, became physical and _real_.

Even as he heard sudden screams echoing in front of him, mixed with the crackling of flames and roars of pain, Loki felt his remaining energy drain away and the link between him and Thor crumbled within seconds.

When Loki reopened his eyes, swaying on his feet, leaning heavily on his brother, beyond the quinjet was a vastly different view.

Instead of armour-clad enemies, only charred remains. Some were still alive, just about, writhing on the floor, most of their body collapsing and the other half blackened beyond recognition. One by one, these few survivors stilled, their rasps quietened and it left an utterly silent, motionless scene.

“Oh- Jesus _Christ…_ ”

Loki blinked slowly at the massacre. He swayed once more and stumbled, felt clouds beginning to gather in his head and his eye sockets, muffling the world around him until he was light and exceedingly heavy all at once. And then the pounding headache set in and he groaned, pressed the palm of his hand against his temple. “ _This_ ,” He said, voice slurred, “Is why it was a back up plan.”

“You could do _that_ in New York??” Came a voice, then there was a round-ish, lined face above him with fuzzy edges. Loki blinked again. When had he lay down?

His tongue was thick and the face which he _should_ recognise was jabbering on about something. “Yes,” He couldn’t pronounce the ‘s’ properly; his lips seemed to lock in place as he spoke, extending it. “Thought it’d work to tele-... Telep-.” His face scrunched up, despite something in the back of his mind telling him that he shouldn’t. “Move me an’ some somewhere. Safe.”

Then a more familiar face, tanned and with gold hair and pinpricks of blue. Loki felt a smile wash over him. “What did you _do_?” Thor was asking, but with a chuckle, as if reprimanding him for a particularly mischievous or taxing spell.

“Are you thinking this situ-.” He scowled at his own sudden inability to speak. “Is funny?”

More laughter. “No, it's very serious.” Then a hand on his cheek, which was far too hot and he would have flinched away if he had the energy. “Now. You rest a second.” A more serious expression and then he could only see the underside of Thor’s chin. He was looking up and talking to someone. “Whatever he did, it took a lot.”

A woman’s voice. Loki was staring up at the ceiling, drifting in almost-sleep. “So? We need to move. He’ll be fine.”

“If he can’t talk straight or maintain that illusion… It’s important to him. We need to wait.” Thor’s chin was moving up and down.

Two figures, one tall and the other short, appeared at the edge of his vision. “We wait,” The tall one’s face seemed to be moving, but it was hard to tell with everything so blurred.

Loki floated as the words swam around him, and his stomach felt warm, a soft glow in his midsection which he couldn’t identify. Soft grays, with shapes moving back and forth occasionally, flitted around like fireflies. He let out a soft sigh, felt tension and aches slowly evaporate away into a fine mist and disperse with a soft breeze.

Comforting arms wrapped about him, but he knew somehow they weren’t real. On a puff of slight wind, the scent of honey and a hair tickled his nose.

**I am so proud of you, my son…**

About him, the slowly undulating colours seemed to pull back into concrete forms as his eyes began to open. Loki hadn’t realised they were shut.

**Never forget I am** **_proud_ ** **of you.**

The words dispersed as he blinked once, twice and stared up at the ceiling.

Hands came down and grasped him, pulled him up and suddenly Loki was upright, head spinning and legs unsteady. “Wha-?”

“You passed out,” Thor’s face was in front of his, a slight smile creasing around his eyes. “And couldn’t speak.”

He nodded after the room stopped spinning. No time to dwell on how _embarrassing_ that was. If Thor ever mentioned it again, that promise to not attempt fratricide may be broken. “Is there another ship? Valkyrie?”

“Mine's too far away. And will be guarded,” She picked at her fingernails for a second, then looked back up. “I’m not the first Scrapper to try and help some sorry bastards.”

Thor huffed out a sight but didn’t look too put out. “We can break through.”

But before she could reply, Loki butted it. “I know a ship… Valkyrie, will all the guards be stationed at yours?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Because the Grandmaster has a spare orgy ship in the hangar. If they’re so concerned with you turning traitor…”

Thor smiled, “Then it’ll be undefended!” Then he seemed to think over what his younger brother had just said. “Loki you _didn’t_.”

He couldn’t stop the half-snort, half-laugh that burst from his throat at the expression on Thor’s face. “Not to worry. When they tried, I murdered the Grandmaster’s lover.”

Eyebrows well into his hairline, the Crown Prince stared at Loki for a moment. Then he grinned, an angular expression which suited his younger brother far more than himself. “Good.”

And with that they were off. Loki stumbling along, but this time in the middle, with Thor and Moth behind him. He and Hon Dör supported each other, only just managing to remain upright. She would shout out directions every time there was a junction and Banner, trotting along just in front, was glancing around in wonder, then back at Loki warily. He ignored the mortal studiously.

“You can teleport?” Hon Dör asked out of the blue during a lul, where the streets were mostly straight and Valkyrie knew the way.

Loki nodded. “The backup.”

“Impressive.”

He managed to chuckle. “You really should visit the Nine if you think _that_ is impressive.”

“And you should visit places that think it is,” She said, “Because this Nine of yours doesn’t seem to appreciate it.”

Loki sighed, but decided against arguing. He had the feeling she wouldn’t listen.

  
  


♛ ♕ ♚ ♔ ♜ ♖ ♝ ♗ ♞ ♘ ♟ ♙

  
  


As he had predicted, there were very few guards at the Grandmaster’s palace-skyscraper. Only two at the entrance they had used to escape, and almost none in the halls. Those that they did encounter were efficiently dealt with by Valkyrie, walking proudly at the front of their procession.

They marched on, through dead white halls and the occasional crowds. Everything seemed quiet. _Seemed_.

As they rounded the final corner, Valkyrie froze. She slowly began to back up, but Banner was walking too quickly to stop and bumped into her, causing a loud step forward to maintain balance. Which alerted whatever it was that caused her to stop dead in the first place.

Clinking of armoured heads turning, then utter silence. Followed by an almighty roar, from what had to be a hundred throats as boots began to thump, tempo and volume increasing as they grew closer.

Valkyrie was saying something, but she was utterly drowned out. No words were needed; Thor and Moth pushed past Loki, nearly unbalancing him and moved to her side. Banner was peering round the corner, then Valkyrie was talking to him, mouth opening and shutting rapidly, teeth flashing. He seemed to be straining, face went momentarily green, then he slumped, shook his head and she glowered.

Loki shifted his weight and helped Hon Dör lean against the wall before following suit, digging his daggers out. Glanced down to see she was weaponless. “You had a sword.”

“Dropped it. If you hadn’t noticed, my legs were ripped off.”

After a moment of fumbling, he was holding out a dagger by the blade, grip proffered. When she didn’t seem to see it, he waggled it a little. A small hand came up and wrapped about it. He let go, almost expecting it to drop to the floor, but she held on.

Attention back to the situation at hand, and Loki watched his trembling arm with vague disinterest as it held up his remaining dagger in a clumsy guard. Just ahead of them, Valkyrie, Thor and Moth were already fighting, blood spraying and bodies flying. Banner stood between the two groups, nervously looking back and forth, straining every few seconds, but never succeeding at whatever he was attempting. It was at the back of his mind, but everything seemed clouded, fogged up by spider webs and he could barely think clearly.

Fighting. Sounds of fighting.

It continued on and on, nothing changing until Thor was moving. Running. Back to them. “We’re going!”

A lethargic nod and Loki was supporting his own weight again, senses coming back slowly, adrenaline starting to burn away the cobwebs in his brain. He grasped Hon Dör by the shoulder and helped her up, leant her against him and began to walk, no longer staggering along but arm still trembling with exhaustion whenever he tried to lift the dagger.

Thor strode in front of him, back to where Moth and Valkyrie were holding the line and broke through, the three able-bodied warriors creating a cocoon about Loki, Banner and Hon Dör.

It was terrifying.

He could see through the gap between one body and the next, watched as the enemy threw themselves against their protectors, rebuffed and tried again. Blades and staffs and bolts of light would shoot through momentarily unprotected gaps, ruffling his hair and glancing across his armour. Loki shuddered, but kept moving, dagger slashing feebly whenever an arm poked through.

But they got to the door; a miracle. If he had had the time, he would have thanked the Norns.

Thor was closest and worked on the unlocking mechanism, large fingers fumbling and unsure. Banner yelped - something had struck him. Loki glanced over after a moment, reaction delayed through exhaustion and was glad to see the mortals still upright, clutching at his side but with no blood visible. Probably just badly bruised.

An enraged yell and crackling of electricity as Thor pounded a fist into the offending keypad, ripped wires out. _Swish_ as the door opened, but only for there to be more whines of weapons powering up.

Time seemed to pause.

_More whines of weapons powering up_.

On the other side of the now opened door was a battalion. Waiting for them. With weapons aimed and ready to fire.

Thor stood in the doorway.

Unprotected.

If they fired, he would die.

Loki could see fingers tightening on triggers, squeezing, bolts flinging from muzzles and into his brother’s body, blasting holes straight through and vaporising his blood. The puzzled look on his face as he collapsed to the floor. A soft gasp as he realised what had happened. Perhaps accusatory, since Loki hadn’t done anything to stop it.

Automatically, reached for his seiðr. It drained away. No time to grasp Thor, make use of his connection. Then deeper, completely uncontrolled. It wasn’t a choice, trying to pour his very essence into the magic, to make it work; save him, _save him_! And it pulled, tugged, snatched away his breath and incredible pain as there was no air in his lungs, no blood in his heart and Loki didn’t know if he’d be alive by the end of this.

He had _vowed_ Thor wouldn’t die!

But.

Moments after the thought entered his head, he decided. No hesitation, Loki wrapped an arm about Hon Dör’s waist and coiled up, _flung_ her.

Forward. Across Thor’s chest.

Loki followed, slid up behind his brother, wrapped arms about and grabbed Hon Dör by her wrists. Pulled until her back was flush with Thor’s chest and ducked his head.

Shots.

Whining and an agonised scream, high pitched, loud enough to hurt.

Loki was braced against the impacts, but he felt Hon Dör’s wrists jerk in his grip and how Thor was shoved back. Volleys of shots.

Then no more and the screaming stopped.

Roar behind him and a blur of green. In moments, the firing squad was bowled over, guns scattered over the floor.

But Loki was concentrating on how Thor was breathing. _Breathing_. Hon Dör wasn’t, but his brother was. And that’s what mattered.

Dragged him aside, into the cover of the wall just in case. Released Hon Dör’s wrists and let her flop to the ground, body unrecognisable except for the mask. Which was completely cracked now, one half missing to reveal amber eyes, wide with shock, dull in death, above scarred cheeks and thin lips.

Thor was covered in her blood and Loki’s hands couldn’t stop wiping it away until his wrists were caught. “You’re alive,” He said, rushed, out of his mouth, before he could pull in a gasping breath to collect himself. It was oddly monotone, given the situation.

No response and another breath. Calmer. He wrenched his wrists from Thor’s grip and managed to look him in the eyes. “Trust me now?”

“You just used your friend as a _meat shield_ …!” Thor hissed, eyes blown wide and hands running through his hair, catching on pieces of gore.

“At least she won’t call you a ‘dickwad’ now,” Loki replied, affecting nonchalance. Then turned away to see the firing squad utterly decimated and the battalion from the hall similarly destroyed.

Strode to the waiting ship that he remembered, typed in a PIN and watched as the ramp descended. Gave him time to calm his racing heart. Swallowed bile. Filled his lungs, then emptied them and repeated. Listened to the metal creaking as it lowered, filled himself with the sound and reminded himself; _Thor was alive_.

That's what was important.

Loki hadn’t held him as he died. Hadn’t been forced to look into those blue eyes as they dulled and watch as the glow of his innate Æsir magic faded. Not just yet, and not _ever_ if he had an option.

Then the ramp was lowered and he strode onboard, fingers flicking over the switches automatically, puzzling out how it worked. Back to the ramp and Moth was holding Hon Dör’s corpse. Fat tears, visible even from where he stood, dripped from their nose and onto what remained of her mask.

“We don’t have time,” Loki said, “Get on.”

And the stupor which had overcome the group seemed to break. Thor first, blinking away shock. When he passed Loki, he paused, stared at him for a moment, then dipped his head slightly. Not in respect but something else. Acknowledgement, perhaps.

Valkyrie simply strode past him with no indication that she even saw him, though Banner also stopped. He hesitated for a moment, but decided to speak. “When I saw you protecting them on the quinjet… I hoped maybe you’d changed. For Thor’s sake.” He was about to say more, but continued into the ship instead.

Last was Moth, standing at the foot of the ramp, blood splattered across their torso and staining their loincloth. In one hand, the remains of Hon Dör’s mask.

When they didn’t move, Loki sighed. “Come on, Moth. You can’t stay here.”

“Why?” They said, simple and void of emotion. Usual friendly smile utterly gone and voice flat.

“Because it was my brother or her,” He found himself saying, hushed. “And no matter what he’s done. Thor is my brother,” Swallowed, “I thought him dead before. It is the worst time in my long life and I will _not_ repeat it.”

Moth continued staring, then turned and walked away. Skirted bodies and headed to the door they had entered.

Before he could stop himself, words were tumbling out again, “I’m Loki. Not Luke. Loki of Asgard.”

They didn’t turn around, just stopped. Then continued on.

Loki ignored how his gut wrenched. From inside, he could hear Banner and Thor arguing over which controls were for what and his fists clenched at his sides.

He was escaping.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: character death. Violently and sadly.
> 
> This is your daily reminder that:
> 
> 1) this is an angst story  
> 2) Loki is a coldhearted bitch and  
> 3) I love character pain! But comments even more >:D
> 
> (Also if anyone would like to Google translate poor Honnie's name go ahead -> Hon Dör *wink wink nudge nudge*)


	13. Catch Me

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


In moments, engines were thrumming and Loki could feel the floor vibrating under his feet. He stood at the top of the ramp, staring blankly at the crumpled body by the entrance. Time was slow, passing like treacle. He watched Moth walk away, disappear through a side door. Then thumping of boots and yet another swathe of guards appeared, sprinting, coming for them. Without preamble, the group walked over their fallen comrades and Hon Dör, nearly hiding her completely from sight.

Loki blinked, snapped out of the blankness which had taken over and retreated, through the door and into the ship. Punched the button by the ramp resolutely. Held the dead gaze of his almost-friend as it closed. He had made the choice and now he would live with it.

“Guards!” He said after a moment, made his way into the cockpit, “We need to take off.”

“Noticed,” Thor shot back, leaning over the controls and brow furrowed.

All four of them were crowded into the small space, unsure hands flitting over buttons and levers.

Banner glanced back, looked up at Valkyrie from where he sat in the pilot’s chair, “You’re from here, right? Can you read this?”

She stared back, “No.”

“Great…” He sighed and turned to the controls again, was about to talk but there was a sudden armful of megalomaniac leaning over him.

Loki remembered vague bits and pieces from Hiroim’s tour. Thankfully, he had been paying attention aboard this ship, and when he’d been flown in by Valkyrie what felt like long ago. It was a different system to her ship, but there were enough similarities that he knew which stick was probably for steering. A quick tug and the whirring engines became louder but, more importantly, the ground receded beneath them. He grinned at the sight, glanced at Valkyrie, “You pilot, I’ll handle the rest.”

Again, she answered in the negative.

“I thought you wanted to get out of here? No one else has experience flying ships like this!” Loki stared at her incredulously.

Valkyrie snorted in answer, then was gesturing behind her, “And none of you know how to work that turbo laser either, right? You fly.”

“Me.”

“If you know so much about it, sure.”

Loki glowered but then the ship was juddering.

With a muttered curse, he grabbed onto the pilot chair back. Banner made a confused yelp of a sound as he was almost flung from his seat, “That’s just the engines, right?” Just as he was finishing whatever inane question it was, Loki shoved him from the chair and set himself on the edge of it, leaning over the controls.

“Take a guess,” Loki stared out of the cockpit window and down at the group of guards, weapons at their shoulders and bolts flying in a hail of light. “Maybe, just _maybe_ , the angry, gun-wielding locals have something to do with it?”

“Your temper hasn’t improved since New York,” Banner grumbled in return but Loki ignored him in favour of grabbing the stick and yanking back, avoiding another volley of shots.

Acting mostly on instinct and hazy memory, his hands danced across the controls, pulling levers and pushing buttons until they were flying, rapidly increasing in speed, towards the exit. It was two huge slabs of metal, one up above and the other below, sunk into the floor. And slowly groaning towards each other. Evidently, whoever controlled this place had caught on.

In his peripheral vision, fists were grasping onto whatever was available. Yelling as they grew closer to the exit and large hands reached for the stick, probably to try stop him from flying forwards, towards the closing gap. He slapped them away and pressed on, felt the engine vibrating through the ship, hands juddering on the control with the force of it. As they grew closer, the low rumble accelerated to a whine, higher and higher pitched, a spray of multicoloured bolts flung into space before them, some splashing against the wall but others shot off into the sky. Loki grit his teeth, stared at the gap he was aiming for.

It was only a few metres away and time slowed. He tightened his grip on the stick, heaved in a breath and held it. Only scant inches between the cockpit roof and the closing metal slab. But they were travelling too fast to stop and in a moment, they shot through. Behind him, the squeaky scraping of metal on metal rung out. And the cockpit window was filled with dark blue, spattered with grey clouds and buildings spiking up from below.

Yelling from his passengers, which was followed by a pat on his shoulder and Loki twisted, surprised, to see Thor with a shit-eating grin stretching from ear to ear.

“O- okay,” Banner was saying, voice distant and hands shaking slightly, “Never do that again.”

“I promise nothing,” Loki said, returning his attention back to the controls and the mortal huffed out a sigh.

They continued on for scant moments before flashes of fire and metal appeared behind them, rounding the massive building which was rapidly growing smaller as Loki urged his pirated ship fast as it could go. Unfortunately, whoever was in charge of defense had stopped underestimating him. Well, at least his little idiot act had fulfilled its role - without it, Loki was certain those hanger doors would have been slammed shut the moment his group even looked in its direction.

Blasts already started to fling out from behind and the Prince scowled, stared at the little screen displaying his attackers. They were only just too far away to be a real danger; the pilots were trigger happy. It wasn’t exactly encouraging, though. Especially since they rapidly grew closer.

Quick twists of the stick had them safely soaring away from the bolts of light, but there wasn’t a way to avoid the incoming transmission, which beeped a few times then simply overrode the communication system, projecting a familiar, squat face onto his screen. Topaz.

“Luke.”

“Loki,” He corrected, “Mind letting us off just this once? I promise to not steal any more biscuits from the tin,” He smiled sweetly but distractedly, more caught up in scanning the horizon and keeping away from stray blasts than trading words.

“Scrapper 142-!”

Valkyrie leant over his shoulder, hair annoyingly falling in the way of his monitors. “Shove it,” Followed by a disingenuous smile and prodding finger to shut off the transmission.

Loki distractedly shoved her out the way just in time to send them into a spin, dive under the bolt they had been about to fly into. Words flew from his mouth unthinkingly; probably insulting her lineage but he was concentrating again and whatever it was faded away.

On his tail was a ship, large and bristling with guns. It was a dull gunmetal, shots firing off every few seconds and deadly accurate. As he analysed it, another let loose and the vessel was so close he barely had time to twist away, though a searing line was still scorched in the top side of a wing, despite his efforts. Bells went off in the cockpit and whatever the others were babbling about was drowned out. Loki rolled them into a dive, spinning and ducking and twisting in an effort to lose his pursuer, or at least gain some breathing space.

As they levelled out again, it hadn’t worked and he yelled, exasperated, “Valkyrie, get on the gun!”

Something angry in the tone of her voice but then Thor was talking too. Valkyrie huffed and footsteps sounded. That was what mattered.

“Loki-” Whatever the older Prince was about to say was cut off by a pointed glare, but then he resumed after a beat of hesitation. No sense of self preservation. “Just… Keep doing what you’re doing.”

He pulled back and climbed, only clouds visible from the cockpit, “Should I? Thought I might go skydiving. Good weather for it.” His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own in these situations. Well, Loki was blaming Asgard. And Odin - definitely Odin.

A snort somewhere behind him, then more talking but Loki was looping, pressed firmly into his seat by the force of it. Clouds, then the horizon with buildings slicing down from above, then the right way up again but he was behind the particularly annoying ship which had been tailing him. Finally, the bastard was shaken off!

In that moment, wind slammed into Loki from behind, rocking him forward and the ship juddered.

A second later and they were flying steady again. Glanced behind to reveal the sides of the fuselage were retreating into the ceiling and blasts of light nearly blinded him, shooting out through the increasing gap to lance into trailing ships, which immediately burst into flame and began to fall from the sky, spewing smoke. Triumphant yells from the others and Loki grinned, felt his cheeks stretch and the fire in his stomach hiss and spit. Returned his attention to the front, and only just in time. The troublesome vessel was engulfed in flame, spewing smoke and debris. With a quick twist, they swerved away with only metres to spare.

However, no matter how many Valkyrie shot down, there were always blasts of energy heading for them and the amount of enemy ships never seemed to lessen, a roiling sea of prickling guns and spewing lasers. Loki dodged and weaved, bobbing through the air and occasionally winding around skyscrapers, wings scraping glass and metal.

Above, rubbish continued to spew from the portals, which grew ever closer the further they travelled from the centre and the Grandmaster’s tower. The largest and most eye catching squatted in the sky far ahead, a continuous torrent of multicoloured refuse fell from it, a stream of traffic skirting the edge of this stream. They needed a way out, and soon.

But… From when he had fallen to this dung heap of a planet, Loki could remember smashing face-first into metal midair. His eyes locked onto the red portal and narrowed. Ships, civilian in nature, passed beneath and around, narrowly avoiding chunks of debris. No other portal had a similar stream winding along beneath it. And if they were to reach Asgard before Hela could do too much damage, once reverting to normal time, they would need to be close. That was their way out. He was sure of it.

“Thor!” Loki glanced back, only to find his brother missing. Instead, he was met by Banner clinging to a handrail populated by handcuffs. No time to ridicule the mortal; “Where is-”

“He jumped!” Was the answer, “He jumped out the back!!”

_That_ particular titbit Loki could spare time for. “He _what_?!”

“Ju-!”

“Shut up,” Loki cut Banner off and scanned the air about him frantically. A fall from this height wouldn’t be fatal but _fuck_ , he couldn’t spare the time scraping an unconscious idiot off the pavement right now!

What was the oaf _thinking_?!

But then a familiar flash of red and Loki’s fingers tightened on the control stick almost spasmodically.

It was ahead of him, shot towards a ship and landed on the back. Finger spasms became heart palpitations and if the inevitable fall didn’t kill Thor, oh _Norns help him_ Loki was going to break his no-fratricide vow.

“Jesus, what is he _doing_??” Came softly from behind him and Loki agreed wholeheartedly, mortal or not.

“You fly,” He grit out from behind clenched teeth.

“What?”

Loki was already out of the seat, “You. Fly.”

“I heard you, but is there some sort of alien pop-culture-reference thing you’re doing?”

At the blank stare Banner smiled wanly, “Okay. Sure. I’ll fly the _extra-terrestrial spaceship_. Good idea.”

Before the Midgardian had even finished his first word, Loki was at the fuselage, leaning out into the buffeting wind and mist of the clouds. Next moment he stepped off, plummeting down with air whipping his clothes and hair.

Landed and the wind was knocked out of him, lungs emptied and Loki rolled. Gasped for breath but there was nothing except rushing emptiness. Coughed and his eyes watered, then he could breathe. Hauling in a lungful of air, Loki slowly stood, heart beating a staccato into the inside of his chest, as if fighting it's way out. He could feel it, pounding his ribs and refusing to slow down.

Whistling wind nearly flung him from his already treacherous perch atop a ship, but Loki hunkered down, tugged his coat in and away from the flaring fire which drove the vessel forwards. He leant forward, wrapped his fingers securely into crevices in the metal and scanned the skies.

More and more and _more_ ships were shooting along, twisting and bobbing, some blending into the roiling clouds but others painted bright colours, flashing and glinting as they soared gracefully. There was a beauty to the deadly dance, all of them chasing after a singular one, so far away now that it was only a golden, shimmering dot heading ever closer to the looming red, swirling monstrosity of a portal in the distance.

A far closer fleck of red was bouncing across the ships. Heading straight for Loki.

Good.

He took a moment to thoroughly ignore any correlation between this and his fall through the Void. Then launched forward, sprinted to the edge and leapt, all hesitation locked away. Ahead of him, another ship and he hung in the air, nothing beneath him but clouds and the ground far, _far_ away.

Then blue with flashes of silver and Loki slammed down onto it, feet first, stumbled a step, tumbled down and bounced along the metal until he dug in his hands and heels, brought himself to a stop and ignored the friction burn on his palms. Stood, but had to duck away from searing bolts of energy, crackling against his skin. This one had a mounted turret, swinging to face him even as he circled around.

More shots rang out, this time one hitting him in the shoulder. It punched into his skin, burrowed in ferociously and burnt out only after hitting bone. Far too close; no time to dodge, even if he hadn’t already been tired to the point of sluggishness. A moment to recover from the burning which burst in his upper arm and Loki was running forward, knife unsheathed in a practiced movement then slid through the wires operating the turret with ease. It fell limp, the glow of further bolts fading away before they could fire.

With immediate danger averted, Loki hissed and grasped his shot shoulder. Seiðr would have healed or prevented this injury. Yet another reason to be pissed at Odin. As if he needed more.

Explosion close by and he could feel the searing air against his side. Followed by the _thud_ of boots and beneath his feet, the ship shuddered and he hunched over to keep his balance.

Vague, yelled noise and he was looking up, knife held tightly in a guard until he saw his idiot brother. “Are. You. _Insane_?!” He was absolutely fuming. How fucking _dare_ Thor attempt to throw his life away like that! As if Loki hadn’t _sacrificed Hon Dör_ to keep him alive!! If she _died_ only for Thor to dash himself across the tarmac beneath them…

The previous, puzzled expression morphed into vague trepidation as the older Prince slowed and his hands came up, palms out. Apparently, he still had enough brain left to recognise when he was in deep shit. Even if it was with his younger, adopted, criminal of a brother. Damnit, when did things go so wrong? “Loki?”

“What are you _doing_?!” He hissed, tried to stalk forwards but ended up stumbling, turbulence and wind conspiring to throw him off balance.

“Making it easier on the ship-… Who’s flying?”

“Banner, and don’t try to change the subject!”

“But he’s never piloted before! What if something goes wrong?”

Loki felt an eyebrow try to merge with his hairline, “That beast’s more likely to survive a crash than we are.”

A pause, then Thor conceded with a huffed laugh.

“You thought it was a good idea to jump around on top of ships in the upper atmosphere-”

“Why? I didn’t think you cared.”

Loki felt like screaming. He would have, if it had a chance of penetrating his brother’s thick skull.

However, their little yelling match was promptly interrupted by the pilot of the ship they were perched upon evidently discovering their presence. Suddenly, the surface was tilting, slow at first but steadily gaining momentum. Loki scrambled away from the drop that had opened up beneath him. At first backing up then crawling away so as to keep from falling off the near-vertical surface.

Managed to reach the top and hooked his fingers over the edge, pulled himself up. A glance around confirmed that Thor had reached it too, and was already balancing precariously on the knife-blade rim. Apparently, there was a practical purpose to the sharp, angular aesthetic this ship sported.

Without waiting for Loki to gain his balance, Thor was already running, surprisingly graceful on the barely inch-wide surface. Took a bracing breath and Loki was following, the edge doing it’s best to twist his ankles. Only a few metres and he was leaping through air again, with no thought spared to check if there was something to land on.

Thankfully, there was and the gut-wrenching feeling of falling ended in a hard _thump_ as Loki hit the next ship. He groaned but made an effort to remain upright, arms wheeling until he slid to a stop.

Behind them, the previous vessel exploded into a fiery ball of shrapnel and Loki flinched at the sudden heat. Promptly whipped around to glare at his brother, “I am _tired_ of fighting you, Thor.”

“Says the traitorous liar,” He shot back, though a bit distracted and without the bite there could have been. More a jibe than serious accusation.

“I thought you were dead… I’m not voluntarily dealing with that again. If you don’t trust _me_ , trust that I want you alive, at least! And-. And that Asgard’s my home, too.”

Calculating gaze locked onto him and Norns, that was unnerving. An expression he was so used to on his own face appearing on Thor’s.

Then it broke into a small smile and Loki was struck with the possibility that it could be the first genuine one directed at him since before Midgard. Tender and gone as quick as it appeared, but nevertheless important. “I’ll try. Loki, I deserve answers. What you did won’t be forgotten and I’m certainly not going to forgive.”

That-. That hurt. But what had he been expecting? The offer from Midgard? From when they were children? ‘Please, Lo, come back to play’? No; this was better. He had to prove himself and there was no other way out, not this time. A resolute nod was his answer, the boulder in his throat too large to talk around. If he could earn this back, his brother, then perhaps things would be okay.

Thankfully, the ship began to bob and weave beneath their feet and Loki didn’t need to try choke out an answer.

One second, it was just a bit of a twist and the next, there was nothing holding him up and he was sent flying with a shocked yelp. Tumbling forward, through where solid metal had been only seconds ago. A split second view of a bed of roiling, dark grey clouds which revealed skyscrapers reaching up like a ribcage of glass and shining points. He was heading down, towards it and then stopped. Yanking on his ankle and he dangled, arms whirling.

Yelling above him and Loki felt like his name was in there somewhere, but he couldn’t make it out with the roaring in his ears. An entire ocean of blood in his head, thumping and rushing. He wanted to yell, to demand Thor pull him up, but his jaw was locked tight and wouldn’t budge. Below him, the Void was opening up between the metal limbs, clawing up to drag him into the vast black maw once again. Teeth gritted, but a whimper still managed to make its way out.

It was pitch, inky black. Opaque, with no hint of the ominous towers in the Void’s heart. A small voice rebelled against the vision, but terror flooded down its throat when it began to speak out and the reasonable thought descended into panicked spluttering.

Whatever was keeping him from falling further, being swallowed up, tightened. Force on his ankle and Loki felt vomit rising in his throat, the consistency of watery porridge and then a hand gripping his thigh. Arms flailing and he found an arm, dug his nails in and clung to it desperately. Scrambled and the hands helped him, pulled him up and away from the Void.

Solid. The roof of a ship, spattered with blood, right in front of his nose. Under his knees and against his cheek.

Loki heaved in a gasp of air, then turned to the side, coughing violently, the remains of his latest meal spitting from his lips.

A weight on his back and he whipped around, slapped it away and swung a punch. It landed in hard muscle, which probably hurt him more than Thor. _Thor_. Shit, he just hit Thor.

“Loki!” His older brother was saying, leant over him and utterly ignoring the attack in a way which was mildly insulting, “You’re alright.”

“I-” Swallowed the rest of the bile with a grimace, “Yes. I’m alright.”

Large, bearded face right in front of him with concerned, almost panicked eyes staring. Long blonde hair whipped Loki’s face; some got in his mouth as he tried to talk and he spluttered.

“I won’t let you fall,” Thor said resolutely, voice too high-pitched with… _Fear_? “I won’t.”

Loki blinked and hesitantly got up, but the pilot seemed to think they had been thrown off. He studied the older Prince’s face for a moment. Sweat beaded on his forehead and a vein throbbed at his temple and the usually tan skin was white as Loki’s. Made to look even paler by the tracks of deep scratches down his arms - where Loki had dug his nails in while being dragged up. “Thor?” He said after a pause.

No answer, just hands on his shoulders and the sense of unease grew.

“I’m not falling,” He said, words uncertain and with half a mind to simply turn away and continue on as if nothing was happening. But, he spoke again instead, “You caught me.”

Finally, a response. “Yeah, okay.” Thor continued staring blankly a second more, then he blinked and focused on Loki. “You’re alright.”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Hesitation, then he patted the arms tightly holding him in place. Loki hated comforting gestures, but he had to offer something. “You can let me go.”

“Oh. Right,” And he was promptly released.

Loki stared at Thor a moment longer, but he seemed recovered from whatever that was. He had the urge to ask Thor if _he_ was okay, but deliberated on it for too long and the opportunity passed.

Well, the upshot was that his brother had seemed genuinely concerned for him. Loki hadn’t realised how much he hadn’t been expecting that until it happened. To avoid thinking about that too much, he glanced over the side of the ship, only to see no Void gaping beneath them. A trick of the terrified mind - a flashback? Like those Barton had told him of. If that was it, then it could explain his mother’s miraculous appearances and-… Loki did _not_ want to descend into madness once again, but to not recognise such an obvious sign of it would be insanity. Acknowledge his mind’s precarious state, or ignore it, but in the action admit his instability?

Introspection aside, they were both still far too high up and unnecessary risks were never a good idea. They needed to get back to the ship, somehow. Loki was about to voice his concerns when the blasted craft they were standing on began to tilt once more, nose angling upwards at an alarming rate.

As one, the two reacted by scrambling to the top, balanced on the smooth edge a moment, then Loki gripped his knife tightly, slid down the belly of the ship, dug in his blade as Thor dropped down in the more conventional way. Electrical fire sparking as he slid down, Loki bunched his legs and yanked the knife out then flung himself away. Below him, the _thud_ of Thor landing and his booted feet smacked into the surface soon after.

Looked back and winced as the explosion sent a wave of heat scorching over him, seeming to completely and mercilessly dry out his eyeballs and sear his skin. Turned his back on it, only to see his brother setting to work on wires and control boxes with abandon, his fists clutching twisting tangles which spat sparks, though it didn’t seem to bother the Thunderer.

And this vessel, like the others, began to dip. Smoke spewed from it and they were running again. This time, Loki leapt first. He flew, wind snapping his clothes and then his fingers curled around the edge of a cold rail. A heave and he was up. When Thor grabbed on, the entire ship tilted. Behind them, another explosion and Loki smirked. Unlike others, this one had a visible cockpit, and the occupant noticed them, paled significantly at the sight of the brothers.

Thor was about to begin tearing into the electronics again, but Loki stopped him with a hand on his arm. Instead of wanton destruction, he gripped the dome of transparent plastic, worked his fingers into the lip. A second to set his feet in place and Loki was heaving.

His muscles bunched and strained, heating quickly until sweat trickled down his temple, despite the viciously cold wind. Just after he had been freed from Asgard’s dungeons, Loki would have collapsed under the strain. Even before Asgard, Midgard, Jötunheimr; he wouldn’t have the strength to pry open the cockpit. But now? After Asgard and, probably more importantly, after _Sakaar_ , the machinery didn’t stand a chance.

Another shove, sharp and forceful, caused the metal to groan, screech and then the dome was rising. He grinned, satisfied at a job done and didn’t notice the shocked expression on his brother’s face behind him, one hand out to offer help but slowly lowering with the realisation that it wasn’t needed.

Loki reached in and grabbed the pilot by her hair and lifted her, relishing the choked cry it tore from the relatively young looking woman. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tossed her aside to bump along the hull of her own ship until she fell off the edge. Bitch deserved it, coming after him and his like that.

However, without a pilot, the ship quickly began to waver and tilt downwards, increasing speed as gravity took hold. Behind him, heavy footsteps indicated that Thor began to run, “Wait! Don’t jump,” Loki said quickly and vaulted into the empty cockpit, grabbed the controls and leveled it off.

With a vessel other than the Grandmaster’s orgy ship, he could ferry his brother back without the more risky surfing-style of movement they had previously been using.

But… A thought snuck into his head. One that wasn’t exactly productive to their escape. Not directly at least.

Loki shook his head and pulled the cockpit down over him with a _clunk_. It was vaguely satisfying, watching his brother cling to the outside of the ship as he piloted from relative safety.

Pettiness aside, now that the enemies saw him as a friend, it was time to wreak havoc. And then maybe go for something extra.

With a vicious grin and deep breath to steady his hands, Loki tugged his new vessel into a steep incline, straight into where the sun peeked out from behind roiling, grey clouds. In moments, he was hanging in the sky far above the school of ships below, glimmering and twisting so sluggishly in comparison to his pirated vessel.

Up as high as they were, there would be no way the pilots below would see him before it was too late. To top it off, Loki made sure to be hovering in the sun - if anyone thought to look up, they would be blinded. Outside, clinging to the metal, Thor wore a bemused expression. However, after a moment of watching, he seemed to grasp the plan and a smile appeared. Then they locked eyes through the transparent dome as Thor looked up and Loki’s own lips spread into a matching, rather murderous, grin.

He hadn’t fought alongside his brother for many years. And it felt good, no, _fantastic,_ to do it again, even if in an unconventional manner. Whenever the Princes of Asgard had brought their full strength to bear on a battlefield, the opposition was decimated. Oftentimes, backup would have been called for, then whichever disagreement they had been having was cleared up and the armies would arrive to a won battle, brothers sat together, tending the other’s wounds and laughing. Thinking back, it was callus and almost cruel, to subject them to such harshness so young. But, whilst there were still nightmares from his first few true bouts as a boy, Loki didn’t doubt that he would be dead in a ditch somewhere if not for the early introduction he and Thor had had to warfare. Growing up in a warrior Realm made anything less unacceptable.

A knock on the plastic directly in front of his face and Loki startled, blinked, only to find Thor peering in at him inquisitively. Wondering what his dastardly schemes were, no doubt.

Well, he’d soon find out. A quick nod in acknowledgement, then he shoved the stick forwards, sending the craft into a steep dive, though conscious to keep from spinning - he didn’t want to fling Thor off.

Gravity pulled them down and the thrusters burnt at full capacity, the floating, darting ships becoming bigger and bigger by the moment. A quick adjustment and they were heading directly for the orgy ship, which was spewing out bolts, dodging and twisting in an effort to remain unscathed.

Loki kept above it by a few hundred metres as he approached, throwing the throttle open and the engine roared. Closer, closer and he was swooping in, fingers hovering over the trigger until one of the bastards pestering Banner and Valkyrie was in his crosshairs. Immediately, he squeezed and a hail of bolts shot out from under the wings which stretched out to either side of him, zeroed in on the target and struck. He watched with satisfaction as it exploded into flame, smoke and orange plasma billowing outwards with a spattering of glowing metal. Effortlessly, Loki guided his ship over the destruction and came about, flinging one engine into reverse as he accelerated the other. The manoeuvre sent the craft’s wings vertical as it turned on a pinhead. Thor better have a tight grip.

Another vessel had shot up from the melee below, probably to try and get on his tail and start a dogfight, but Loki sent off another burst and it’s momentum carried the explosion over him in a cloud of dense black smoke and orange heat, licking at the cockpit. Once he could see again, a glance confirmed Thor was alright, still clinging to the hull rail, although looking a little worse for wear - soot covered face and singed hair.

It wasn’t nearly as hard as he thought it might be to strafe the rest of the swarming ships, taking them out one at a time, until the area around them was relatively clear; the rest were grouping up further away, but the momentary peace suited Loki’s purposes.

He took a minute to line up, delicately manoeuvring so that Thor could hop into the Grandmaster’s ship.

Instead, he just kept staring at Loki. After a beat of incredulous silence, he unlatched the cockpit and leant forward to hold that suspicious gaze, “Are you going or not?”

“Sure you have it stable?” Which translated to ‘sure you won’t throw me off?’

Loki rolled his eyes, “Yes, Thor. Now go.”

“And you’ll be across right after,” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. That rankled.

Instead of an answer, he hummed noncommittally, Thor continued his suspicious almost-glare for a second longer, then began to shuffle his way across. He was bent almost completely over to keep his centre of gravity low and not be flung off by the wind. Or so that Loki would have a harder time shaking him off. Either way, it was quite funny to watch; the mighty God of Thunder bent at the middle, hands clutching the miniscule railing just in front of his feet.

And then Loki was alone on his vessel. He immediately popped the cockpit back into place and opened up communication channels with the orgy ship - if he was doing this, no point in being more idiotic that he had to be. Would it count as a betrayal? Possibly. But then again, Loki would prefer death at his brother’s hands than whatever else may lie in store for him back on Asgard. Or in the rest of the Nine, for that matter.

There was a wounded and exasperated glare aimed at him from Thor, but the younger brother was already swiftly pulling away and the distance made it hard to tell. Loki wouldn’t put it past him to jump across.

Instead, the familiar voice came over his radio, “ _Loki…_!”

“I suppose you mean me,” He didn’t need to hide his definitely-not-fond smile at this distance - they wouldn’t see it. “Does this count as betrayal?”

“The deal is that you return to Asgard’s dungeon after fulfilling your duties. If you’re trying to worm your way out of going back, I’m counting it,” His tone was deadly serious, but with a hint of pleading that was far better hidden than Loki had come to expect from Thor. That, or he no longer cared enough for that pleading to be stronger…

No. The image of Thor’s too-pale face and too-high, panicked voice came back to him, from only a few minutes ago. He cared. The care had become callus and hardened, with layers of protection. Which was mostly Loki’s fault. But it still existed, and the despair which had begun to rise, a thick oily wave carrying sharp shards of anger with it, subsided.

“Loki?”

“Ah-. No, yes, I’m not worming out of anything. Just an… Errand.”

“You? Errand?”

He sighed; of course his brother wouldn’t accept anything at face value. It was going to take a while to get used to that - Thor using his brain. “More like _recompense_.”

“For?”

Hesitation, though only for a moment. If he wanted trust, he had to give it first. Especially after abruptly leaving as he just had. “About one foot of hair.”

He expected a laugh, but none came. Then Banner’s voice, incredulous, “A _foot of hair_?! You’re endangering our escape for-”

Fuck, he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Loki pulled in a breath. He didn’t know what he was about to say, then words were streaming out his mouth, “Perhaps if you were of a civilised society, instead of some backwater which makes ruthless, unthinking _monsters_ of its greedy, over-hasty _‘scientists’-_ ”

“Loki!” And just with that one word he deflated, the firestorm of anger once again almost completely extinguished. Then, softer, “I understand.”

He wanted to refute that, but he couldn’t. Because he and Thor had never cut their hair apart before this. Even with all that had happened, and the many times Loki had stood before a mirror with some sharp utensil, begging his arms to just _do_ it. Rid himself of this last connection to his brother. And had been unable. And every time they had seen each other - across a ruined city, across a battlefield, across the dungeon shields - it had been a relief to see he hadn’t been the weakest of them, in this way at least.

So, Thor understood. And to receive trust he had to give it. Trust he wasn’t being mocked or laughed at. Surprisingly, he didn’t need to force it; force his mind to drop the issue. It just went.

Loki blinked and shook himself from his thoughts. They were in the midst of a battle. Of an escape! There was no time for mulling over his complicated familial relationships. Instead, his time was for decimating the bastards who had kept him here, humiliated him and shorn him of his last physical link to his brother. No mercy.

“Head for the large red portal,” He said, tilted his ship so the nose pointed towards it. Smiling at the blurry figures as they turned to look, then they became less so and he could make out Valkyrie’s slightly amused expression, Banner’s wide eyes, as if he expected to wake up any minute and Thor’s attentive gaze as he searched out said portal. Loki grimaced and it became blurry with distance again. He didn’t need these reminders, not with his monster-hunting brother nearby. Even if nothing too untoward had happened so far; that amount of trust wasn’t to be handed over, no matter what he was trying to rebuild.

Crackling from the radio brought him back to the real world and Loki sighed at his awful attention span - definitely to be blamed on Asgard and Odin. “The Devil’s Anus?” Valkyrie’s voice emanated from the dashboard.

He blinked, “Beg pardon?”

“The Devil’s Anus.”

Loki lapsed into silence. He didn’t have a response for that.

Instead, Banner spoke up, “Wait, you actually called it that? Is there an alien version of the devil? Then what about go-?”

“‘God’s Anus’?” Loki jibed without thinking, “Is that somewhere around, then?”

Valkyrie snorted, “Hopefully not, Odin is supposed to be quite far from here.”

That was _not_ a pleasant mental image.

Over the line, he heard Thor’s raucous and startled laughter. Loki only just managed to keep his spluttering from reaching them and when he spoke again, it was with a resigned tone, “Into the Devil’s Anus, then.”

More laughter on the other side.

With a shake of his head, Loki pulled further away from the Grandmaster’s orgy ship and sped back towards where the enemy was still milling, though far more than there were previously.

Over the comm, people were talking and he turned them down - there would be no room for distraction, here.

Immediately, the twisting school of ships ahead of him realised what was going on. There was no point in hiding it, since he _was_ charging them head-on. Bolts of green and blue and bright white and all colours in between were flung at him. Loki pulled in a deep, steadying breath and focused. With his magic, this would have been far easier. But as it was, he had to rely on more mundane means.

The first two, he avoided simply by dipping the right wing slightly. Next, he ducked under into a dive and the rest soared over his head. If he flew fast enough, there would be far less to dodge, but nearly no time to react. And reaction time was something quite necessary for not exploding into a fireball during air combat.

Which reminded him - if Odin’s restrictions on his shapeshifting allowed the odd clarity of sight… How else could he use it; his heritage? Whilst he was stuck with the detestable form, he might as well take advantage of it. Loki was nothing if not practical.

Rocketed upwards after an incredibly tight turn and his back welded to the chair with the force of his sudden and rapid ascent.

In the arena, Loki had created a wall of ice. He hadn’t meant to. How had he done it?

The vision came naturally to him. If something was just out of view, just too far away, it would suddenly crispen. But, if he paid attention to it, and felt the usual disgust, the figures would return to blurry, distant and indecipherable. When fighting the Hulk, the ice wall had been from a moment of utter panic and terror, but Loki didn’t need ice. And he wouldn’t want it, not with Thor around. Or himself, either - the thought of using that vile, disgusting, _unnatural_ magic on _purpose_ … He shivered at the thought.

Thankfully, not his hands. They remained steady as ever as Asgard’s Prince spiraled down in a corkscrew, darted out of it and into a spin, dancing on the edge of true danger. The blockade he faced had yet to break rank, and they were not close enough for the bolts to reach him at such a speed that he couldn’t twist away. Which would change once he got closer.

When he had realised what he was doing, in the arena, that it was _useless_ , that even when forced upon him, his heritage couldn’t help. Just degraded him in the view of thousands. And then the ice wall broke. Usually, Loki would have never thought the two events related. However, he knew nothing of Frost Giant witchcraft or… Whatever it was. Seiðr? Magic? Living ice? And since he knew nothing, it could very well be tied to emotions and… The rest of what his race made him feel. Oh, if this were the case, he preferred Asgard immeasurably. Even if they were bigotted about most everything, they didn’t intertwine arcane arts and blasted _sentiment_.

No matter. Loki needed all the help he could get, sentiment or otherwise. And it couldn’t hurt to have a go. Well, it could. And it probably would. But going in without it could hurt far, _far_ more.

A second to relax as much as he could, hurtling through the air at ridiculous speeds. His grip softened about the controls, his eyes fell half closed and he lolled back in his seat. Just… Felt the energies of Yggdrasil, faint as she was on Sakaar. Tried to ignore the hatred and loathing and disgust roiling in his stomach. Imagined that the hands loosely holding the controls were Jötunn blue and-

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is now complete (editing and all! squeee) the last two chapters will be uploaded quickly :)
> 
> Also. There used to be only 13 chapters, but I had to stretch it out because 13 was pretty boring (just a bit of ship surfing then they escaped, no interesting stuff and more light hearted) so I re-wrote it into an 11k+ monster and split it into three parts! If the whole Jotunn thing in the chap is a bit much, let me know. I came up with it on the spot at about 3am but it seemed cool to me so I've run with it :)
> 
> Criticism of the constructive kind is always welcome! Hope you enjoyed (comments and kudos make my day)!!


	14. The Grandmaster

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


_Oh_.

Okay, okay.

He’d been right.

Loki sat ramrod straight and his eyelids shot open. Every part of his body tingled, attached to a live-wire of _awareness_. It was like returning to his form after astral projecting for too long; the shock of having a body, of _feeling_! Every sensation was new and _raw_ , even the air rushing in and out his trachea, too hot but bearable. Too bright, then he blinked and it was less so. Like putting on sunglasses.

Now was the time. He could feel the vileness and disgust and _horror_ rising up, from his stomach, swelling and lapping at his thoughts, acidic bile in his throat. The clarity wavered, then solidified as Loki pulled up defences, repurposed into sea walls and set to work.

It passed as a blur. Loki simply restarted his charge, every shot seen from the moment it emerged from a barrel and projected path tracked. He weaved a deadly dance, squeezing off rounds where possible, but all his concentration remained on _not exploding_.

He had been right; there was no way in the Nine he could have survived even a few moments without whatever he was doing.

Loki danced and dodged and weaved, grew closer and closer, fingers and arms working in a frenzied blur, reacting on instinct only. No need for thought.

And then he was through.

Loki gasped, everything snapping back to comforting dullness the moment he broke through the blockade, his hands shook and he collapsed forwards, craft sliding into a nosedive. A swift movement righted it and none too soon. The entire ship tipped, sent him flailing in his seat and alarms flared. He was hit - left wing near the back. It had burnt a hole through his power line but already secondary wires flicked on. Not as much energy as the primary, but it would have to be enough.

Long seconds of desperately spinning, twisting, ducking and diving and he was away! Behind him, the roar of engines as they gave chase, but then subsided. Under orders, perhaps? They would want to recapture the Hulk far more than just little old Loki. Being underestimated was truly a phenomenal advantage.

Well, that just gave him longer to play with until they realised who the real danger was.

Loki eased up on the controls and leaned back in the pilot’s seat, gasping for breath. That was _intense_. He hadn’t known tapping into his heritage would be like that.

He wondered what it was that had triggered it. Seeing himself as Jötunn? Not resisting the knowledge, if only for a brief time? Perhaps it had something to do with the odd way in which their magic still managed to work, despite being cut off from Yggdrasil… Some sort of innate seiðr, maybe? Which could only be tapped into by the Jötnar and required a prerequisite of _what_? The questions circled in his head. It could be belief that was needed, which could explain Loki’s ability to use Asgardian magic - the belief that he was Æsir. Despite evidence to the contrary.

An interesting line of thought and one which would require much more time to think on, but later. Loki had revenge to get to. Because leaving loose ends was not something he did, and after leaving this wretched planet, he had no intention to return.

This vessel was far faster than the Grandmaster’s orgy ship they stole, so it sped onwards towards the towering skyscraper. Loki wasn’t the fleeing type. Well; he _was_ , but preferably after leaving an explosive, poisonous present behind. In the absence of readily available carbon monoxide and reactants, he instead had to settle for energy weapons. Which, considering the offenses against him, were well suited to the task.

Even flying, the building towered above Loki, his neck craning back to try catch a glimpse of the top, fading into clouds above. It was red and blue and adorned by massive silver heads, at least ten times as tall as the Hulk. Top-heavy and made up of separate pieces, stacked atop each other made it totem-like. As he grew closer, one of the looming faces was familiar - Hulk. Only half-finished and sparkling chrome, still recognisable. Loki swallowed thickly. Then remembered the bastard that obnoxious building belonged to. Steeled himself.

Remembered how he had been enslaved - _sold_. And whilst the woman who had sold him was protected from revenge, who she had sold him _to_ was definitely not. An image of the Grandmaster sprung to mind; silver hair, cold eyes and a blue stripe obnoxiously painted from his bottom lip to his chin. Clothing extravagant, with gold and cerulean and hints of red, giving him the air of a King.

Loki scoffed at the thought. He knew Kings - had _killed_ Kings. There was nothing regal in the Grandmaster; he was a slaver and opportunist who had outgrown his capabilities. Yes, he had amassed an army and held sway over a planet, but Loki doubted he had ever come across a battlemage Prince. And promptly tried to make said Prince his bed slave.

Any remaining indecision fled him at the reminder and Loki didn’t resist the wide grin which took over his face, all teeth and sharp as glass.

On his dashboard, there was the buzzing of raised voices and he twisted a dial, turning them up. Thor’s voice immediately blared out, panicked and choked, “ _Loki_!! What are you doing?!”

“I’m fine,” He said quickly, glancing back at the twisting ball of enemy ships, seemingly confused as to who to go after. “Made it through. Going for the Grandmaster.”

“... Looked like you wouldn’t for a bit. How?” Now Thor sounded both incredulous and relieved.

Loki sighed and urged his ship onwards, “It’s not entirely clear,” He admitted after a moment. Trust; to earn it you must give it. “I did _something_ and everything was clear and I had longer to manoeuvre.” There was no way he would describe exactly what he did, not to Thor.

A pause and he could almost hear his brain working. Then, “Like when I broke my banishment. As a mortal, my senses were dulled and even time seemed to move faster. But when I was deemed worthy again, it changed back.”

Loki blinked at the comparison. However, it made sense. The Jötnar and Æsir would have similar capabilities, including reflexes. If he was right, and a lot of Frost Giant anatomy relied on seiðr to function optimally, then what he had just experienced was the norm for both Æsir and Jötunn; meaning he had become rather accustomed to dulled senses from so long with them. Odin and his blasted dungeon! Ripping away his Æsir form, probably knowing full well that Loki would never accept his skin enough to activate the baffling Jötunn magic, therefore leaving him with the senses of a _mortal_!

“-Are you there?” Thor was saying, “You need to come back. We have to get through the portal before the ships close in!”

“I’m here and I’m getting that bastard before we leave,” There was steel in Loki’s voice. Cold. Determined.

“If we don’t go now, we won’t make it! Stop being selfish and so centered on revenge.”

He hesitated for a moment. Perhaps… Glanced back; he could definitely get through the blockade again, since Valkyrie had been firing into them constantly and a large portion was either smoking or on fire or spiralling out of the sky, not to mention those that simply blew up.

No. The Grandmaster had gone against Loki and he would not survive it. No matter what he had done to this planet or Valkyrie or even his gladiator almost-friends… He had attempted to keep a God under wraps. That sort of arrogance and audacity could not be allowed.

“I’m killing him, Thor. Flee if you’re so worried.”

Silence, then an angry, wordless yell. Followed by; “We’ll wait for you. But I’m not happy about it!”

“You do mean ‘we’re not happy about it’, right? Because you are being one self-centered, _arrogant_ son of a bitch!” Valkyrie snarled over the crackling link, Banner’s voice somewhere in the background, though quieter.

Loki deliberately ignored her and turned the radio back down, gripping the controls. Not far to go, now.

His mind seemed to blank, only rage filling him until he was vibrating in his seat. The anger that had been beaten out of him by exhaustion surfacing. It felt almost _generic_ , like he had experienced it so many times before; that he was almost desensitised to it in an odd way. Because he still felt it, strong as many years ago.

No time for that; the tower loomed, now only a few hundred metres away.

From the radio, a spike in volume and Loki turned it up distractedly, “-ome of them are heading for you!”

A glance back revealed a group of enemy ships, breaking away from the blockade and making for him, in tight formation and the colouration far more uniform than the others. Perhaps the guards? It didn’t matter - they had probably realised his intentions, but far too late. When they tried to stop him, they would die.

A good idea would have been to plan his approach and execute the Grandmaster quickly. Instead, he scanned the glass skyscraper for a moment, spotted a room which looked like the knockoff throne room and promptly crashed into it.

Loki was flung forward in his seat and his head smashed into the dashboard, blurring his vision and sending pounding pain through his skull. A muffled groan as he reeled back upright, hands automatically coming up to clasp his forehead, Loki peered out of his cockpit to the tune of alarm bells and crackling glass.

He had gotten the right room, it seemed. Even over the deafening ringing of his ship - as if he didn’t know he’d _smashed into a skyscraper_ \- high, wheedling screams from scurrying sycophants within. They, in their over-bright colours and golden armour bikinis, evidently hadn’t been expecting him to crash their party.

After a second to shove the pain away and slam his fist into the alarm’s ‘off’ button, Loki flung open the cockpit and stood with a flourish and menacing grin, “I didn’t know anyone was home. How rude. I’ll knock next time.”

“Would you like to go back out and try again?”

The Grandmaster. Silky smooth and with no indication of anger. Other than his too-monotone voice and one twitching eyelid. The left one. As Loki watched, it spasmed again, the bottom lid pulling up only a few millimetres, not even far enough to cover part of his iris.

“I would, except it’s not the same without the glass,” Loki hopped down from his ship, casual as he could. “Are you going to cower behind guards, cry for mummy or flee?” He stared into the Grandmaster’s eyes, kept his face blank except for the too-wide grin. Thor had always said it made him look like a deranged cat. Hopefully of the larger variety, but Loki had never asked.

A barked laugh from the slaver and the frantic, pattering feet, previously running for the exit, had stopped. Instead, the crowd formed a ring. Eagerness on their faces. “You’re challenging me?” He sounded incredulous.

Loki cocked his head slightly. Had he miscalculated?

The goofy demeanour was slipping away and the glimmering spark that he had previously noticed in the Grandmaster's gaze had billowed into an inferno. A smile, laugh and Loki could barely breathe. The creature - for now he was certain this wasn’t anything he had encountered before - hadn’t even moved, but there was a definite pressure around his neck. No seiðr had been used; he would’ve sensed it.

Hard lines of the creature’s face crinkled into a severe frown, his robes seemed to shimmer, spitting out phantom heat. Without moving even a millimetre, his presence within the room rocketed outwards, engulfing everything to the very walls. On Loki’s tongue, he could _taste_ the metallic smell of blood and ozone, mingling unnaturally. His neck hurt from looking up, but he wasn’t. There was a disconnect, somehow. At once, the creature was both tall enough to brush the ceiling and slightly shorter than Loki. The double blurred, seemed to spin before his eyes. Looked at it and _looked_ , but the moment he thought he had figured it out, the image spat in his face and-

“I am En Dwi Gast, Grandmaster of Sakaar and _Elder of the Universe_ ,” A sudden return to the faux benevolence of earlier followed, “You want some time to rethink? Realised just _how much_ you’ve fucked up, yet? Perhaps cower behind that Thunder Lord brother of yours? Or cry for mummy! That would be quite entertaining, seeing you try talk to her through the veil.”

Loki choked on an enraged scream. How _dare_ he! How dare he open that filthy mouth and talk of Asgard’s _Queen_ , the lowdown, _cock-sucking piece of-_

“Certainly more entertaining than fucking you dry,” Grandmaster hummed and strolled forward, leant down slightly and ran a finger over Loki’s face. “You’re cute, but you’re cuter on your knees.”

When had he knelt? Fuck. This wasn’t good - even against Hulk, he could at least _move_!

“Nothing to say? If words won’t fill your mouth, I will. Something like that needs to be used-”

No, _no-no-no_!! An Æsir face swirled into existence. Strong nose, bushy eyebrows and brown eyes, his lips and chin and neck melting under too-hot touch. Loki spat out the first sentence that crossed his mind other than begging gibberish, “ _I can talk to her_!”

A pause.

The illusion of a face which wasn’t there - yes, certainly and illusion, to scare him - crumbled away. Loki gasped in a breath and ignored it.

“You can talk to your dead mother. _You_ , the insane Frost Giant that’s so weak minded you can’t even look at yourself without a glamour?” The bastard’s face appeared only inches from his own, peered down and Loki swallowed thickly. His mouth felt dry. If anything was put in it, he would bite. Hard. “You’re _insane_.”

Loki shook his head viciously, “ _No_. I am not lying. If I was, it’d be better. Believable.”

The Grandmaster was turning away but paused. Then sighed, “Why do I believe you, Mr. God-of-Lies?”

“Because I’m telling the truth,” There wasn’t anything else to say. He’d vastly underestimated his opponent. Of course; the one time he went against a morally corrupt, megalomaniac ruler, it was an Elder. Just his luck.

“And. When she appears to you. What does she look like? What does she _say_?” A twist which sent his robes flying around him and the Grandmaster was crouched in front of Loki, who found he could move again but didn’t dare. Those terrible eyes pinned him, a worrying lust within them. For him or his knowledge, it was hard to tell. “‘Hello my changeling son! It’s nice and cool here in Hel, should I send a postcard?’”

Perhaps… The threadbare pieces of a plan swam into mind. “And if I don’t tell you?”

He simply snorted, then gestured to the crowd, who promptly began shouting, yelling, hands waving excitedly as they shouted seemingly meaningless words. Punishments, probably.

Lazily, the Grandmaster pointed out one; the rest hushed. With trembling lips, the selected bootlicker stepped forwards and said their word. “Melt stick!!” They proclaimed, as if proud to be picked out by their master. Snivelling _worm_.

“There,” The Grandmaster smiled kindly, face wrinkling like a kindly grandpa. “Any more questions or are you going to stall away my infinite lifespan?”

Loki mustered his courage and laughed. Right in the slaver’s face, spittle flying. He grinned, laughed some more. Looked right into his eyes. His mouth opened to say something and Loki laughed again, loud, harsh. Not quite right, but a good enough performance.

The twitching eyelid was back. Twitch. Few seconds. Twitch again.

A baffled expression and Loki explained in the haughtiest, most self-assured voice he could fabricate, “Seriously? You are, _all_ of you, beneath me. I am a _God_ you dull creature and I will not play your childish _games-_!”

_Clap_!! The left side of his face was white-hot, tingling and screaming with pain. His cheekbone was pulverised and felt like crushed gravel in his head. No floor beneath him, just rushing and then a wall. Into it head first and-

Blankness.

Nothing.

Fuzzy, cotton in his skull instead of a brain. His eyes had closed - when? They’d been open. Loki squinted against the light. Above him somewhere, a creature was ranting. The Grandmaster. His voice was raised and terrible, each word thunder against his ears, a punch to the eardrum.

Slowly, the world cleared from blank white. Too bright and his eyes stung, frost filming his cheeks.

The first thing he saw was a yellow orb, leveled at his chest. It was seated atop a long, golden rod. Ornate and resonating with energy, it had to be the melt stick. Good; that’s what Loki wanted.

“ _Contact her_!” The Grandmaster snarled, voice slightly lower than the yelling, though thrumming in rage. His knuckles were white around the stick, eyelid twitching. More pronounced, this time. Spasmed every few seconds, jerking his cheek and eyebrow.

He nodded, dejected. Reached inward, to his seiðr, but was stopped by the press of the melt stick, only momentarily. “I’m not stupid. No magic.”

Loki chuckled, “Scared?”

“If even I’ve heard about your magic all the way out here… Let’s say I’m warily curious.”

“I need it to summon her.”

The Grandmaster stared into his face. Trying to sniff out the lie. Loki held his gaze, leant forward, pushed force, the need to be believed and a measure of desperation onto his expression.

“Go ahead.”

Loki nodded, reached for his seiðr again. Leant forward a bit more, bowed his head. There. Against the side of his head, the brush of the melt stick orb.

Everything was already prepared - the threads of energy and sparkling wefts of fate were wound into position. With a thought, Loki opened himself to the weapon, dove into the enormous well of power he had guessed would be there. Stored within the rod itself and drawn from a connection to Yggdrasil. Enchanted weapon! He’d thought so. An incredible piece of craftsmanship, now encased in metal and bent to the rule of this disgusting despot. It felt familiar… Laevateinn? No matter.

Energy coursed through him, a searing torrent. With only a moment’s hesitation, he shoved the power of his own life force into the raging current. Every last speck of might would be vital. A sea of fire and ice and the cold expanse of space, forced to channel through him, out the other side and into the working he had constructed.

Only moments for it to take effect and he grinned, this time genuine.

“You wanted to meet my mother?” He asked, seiðr roaring through him, far more than when he had used Thor’s connection. Magic shone through Loki, physically and otherwise, permeating every cell and filament which made up his being, rushing through his body as a channel from the metaphysical plane to ours. The Grandmaster stared at him, realisation peeking through from behind denial. Reflected in his eyes, Loki could see the white-hot outline of himself. “Go meet her yourself.”

A blinding flash and the monster who had stood before him disappeared. Ghostly light, not quite of this world, shuttered and the coursing ocean of energy drained from him. Back through the inconspicuous-looking instrument. The Grandmaster’s clothes slumped to the floor and Laevateinn clanked, rolled to a stop at Loki’s feet.

Finally.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, there wasn't a fight with big boi Grandmaster, but it didn't feel quite right for Loki to *not* go get revenge on him. I hope I built this up enough (that too, I though I'd bigged him up too much to just leave him behind on Sakaar).
> 
> Love hearing your thoughts! Thanks for reading :D and only one chapter left (it's pretty small, FYI)!!
> 
> Also, I hope the explanation for the Jotunn Happenings TM was sufficient :) if anyone's confused I'll explain in comment replies and edit the chapter to make it more obvious.


	15. To Asgard, Together

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

  
  


Loki let out a sigh, stared at the pile of cloth. It looked awfully small for the incredibly powerful creature that had just been wearing it. He bent down, picked up Laevateinn and surveyed the room.

Still in a ring around him, the sycophants stared on in shock. Their foreheads were wrinkled and mouths gaping, hands twisted in surprise. And a healthy measure of unease. Loki hefted the staff, shook it at them in a vaguely threatening way. They scattered.

Revenge sated, he wearily made his way back to the ship, clambered in and just sat for a moment.

The Grandmaster had been sent to Helheim. A teleportation which would usually be out of the question, even if he had access to Gungnir. As well as the entire weapon’s vault. But the combination of his life force, Laevateinn and unrestrained Yggdrasil seemed to be enough. The amount of energy such a feat must have taken might have been cause for concern, but Loki was so _tired_. Thinking didn’t seem possible past the slush in his skull.

He hadn’t felt like this since the time he fell into a frozen lake as a child. Above him, the hole he tumbled through iced over. Loki had been shivering on and off, beating at the blank white which kept him trapped, cold-weakened limbs barely even making a sound. After hours, someone had found him. He forgot who. But he had been exhausted, without the strength to so much as shiver.

If the temperature plummeted now, Loki doubted he would have the energy to shiver.

He could still turn a dial, though.

Arms heavy and fingers immeasurably clumsy, Loki twisted it, only a few degrees at a time. Then spoke, “... Thor?” It was barely a rasp, but the response was immediate.

“Thor!” Banner’s voice, “ _Thor_ , get over here. It’s Loki!” At the last word, crashing and thumping came from the other end and he couldn’t help a small, exasperated smile.

“ _Loki_? You’re alright?!”

“I’m fine. Reven-... I got ‘im back.” Everything was going fuzzy again.

“Oh no,” Thor muttered. Why did he sound so concerned? Loki had done it! “What did you do?”

“I used my sei-... I _magicked_ him to Hel.”

A pause.

Then, “You _what_?!”

Loki sighed. If not for Thor being so irate, he would’ve already gone to sleep. “I sent ‘im to Hel.”

“For the love of the Norns, Loki! What were you thinking?! You should be _dead_!!”

“Well. I’m not,” He leant back in his seat. Previously, he’d thought it was rather irritating, but the hard plastic seemed a lot softer now. “And Odin can eat his words. I did it. Didn’t even need Gungnir neither. ‘Impossible to tele- move to other Realms’ my arse…”

“You just… Stay awake, okay?”

Loki sighed. Of course, Thor wanted him to _not_ do the one thing which would help him stop feeling so shitty. “ _Really_?” The word drew out, slipping past his lips, thick and heavy. A voice in the back of his head was mortified.

“Yeah. Definitely. We don’t know how badly you’re burnt out, Loki.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“I am?”

“Hmmhm.”

“What is it?”

“If you want me to do something I don’t want to, you gotta bribe me.”

A lull in the conversation. Loki blinked slowly at the radio. Thor didn’t answer for too long. So long... He was supposed to be doing something. Floating in a warm sea. Sinking into it. Everything was so foggy. And he had been hollowed out, an incredible power had ripped through him. Like there was no air in his lungs, blood in his heart…

“Okay, Lo,” Thor sounded a bit choked for some reason. Did Valkyrie do something? “What do you want?”

He thought for a moment, “To go to sleep.”

“ _No_.”

“Fine... One of those apples mother grows. You get me one.”

Another pause. But not as long, this time. “O- okay, Lo. I’ll get you one. We’re nearly there now, just keep talking to me. You’ve needled me into getting you something, so you need to be around to take it. That’s how this works, remember?”

He wanted to say something back, but his tongue was so heavy and his lips wouldn’t move. He blinked, but they wouldn’t open again. Thor was speaking. It was blurred, coming to him from a long way away, underwater. He was supposed to be doing something, but the lulling warmth and lack of weight made it seem unimportant. Mmm… _Sleep_...

Loki sighed, shifted in his chair, curled into the headrest.

Time didn’t exist, until it was brought back to him by large, too-warm hands on his shoulders. Accompanied by yelling and shaking.

He floated back, away from an edge he hadn’t realised existed. Eyes opened to the ceiling of the Grandmaster’s pirated ship. Another blink, age-long, and Thor’s face was hovering above him, eyes slightly red and hair in disarray. “Loki?!”

“Yeah?” He slurred out.

A grin broke out on his brother’s face, “You _idiot_ ,” But it was affectionate. Somehow. Thor’s ability to make insults affectionate was puzzling. Then he was looking elsewhere, talking. “He needs food, water and adrenaline.”

With no warning, a hand appeared out of nowhere and smacked into Loki’s cheek. He bolted upright, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. Above him, Valkyrie snorted, “There ya go. Adrenaline.”

Thor turned towards her, but she just shrugged in return. Banner, probably in the cockpit, called to them, “I saw food in one of the compartments right at the back.” Had Thor carried him into their ship? _Really_?

It took a few moments for the older Prince to find it, but then he was back at Loki’s side with some sort of bar wrapped in foil. He tore the covering off and practically shoved it down his brother’s throat, “Eat,” He commanded. For once, Loki decided to obey and crunched up the salty, rather dry food.

“You fought the Grandmaster?” He was asking the moment Loki swallowed.

“More like annoyed him into giving me access to a power source. But fight sounds better. Did you know he was an Elder?”

Thor paled. Then he checked the younger Prince over, hands brusquely running over his arms, probing his skull and poking his ribs. Loki didn’t have the strength to slap him away, but could manage a glare, “I’m fine. Not _great_ , but I’m fine. I’ll live. It’s just burnout.”

“Really bad burnout that nearly killed you.”

He sighed, “But it _didn’t_. And I’m awake now. No slurring or anything. Which means I’ll be all fine in a bit.”

“Don’t fight an Elder again. Not without me.”

“Same for you,” Loki really wasn’t thinking about what he was saying, was he? Light banter, nice and casual, and he goes in for the heavier stuff. There should be a ban on talking to estranged family whilst exhausted and recovering from near death-by-magical-exhaustion.

Fortunately, Thor only grunted in response. Eloquent as ever.

_Un_ fortunately, they were still in the midst of a battle, apparently. Beneath them, the ship bucked as a hit landed.

Valkyrie, having had enough of the two Princes simply sitting on the floor, glowered at them, “Thor, some help here!”

With a last stare, vaguely threatening, the Thunderer stood and made his way to her - the turbo laser had stopped firing. A jam?

Loki tried to stand, but with the roiling ship, that was a bad idea. Especially since someone had designed this aircraft to have _removable sides_. Instead, he crawled over to the back wall, which was thankfully present and solid. Not the most dignified way to get around, but better than falling to his death. Dying from being too tired to walk properly after defeating an Elder of the Universe…

So, he just sat, recovering his strength. Every so often, he stood up with the support of the wall and took a ration bar from the cupboards. Mostly, it was cleaning supplies and… Things he didn’t want to think about. Loki took the food and sat. Munched his way through a few bars, slowly but surely.

It was quite nice to be on the edge of a battle like this. He didn’t need to do anything. Just watch. And the faces Valkyrie made when enraged were quite entertaining.

Like the last time he had been burnt out - from disintegrating the guards at the quinjet - Loki didn’t take long to recover. Yes, he had been dangerously strained, but a large part of being a warrior-mage was quick recovery from burnout. Sometimes, it was necessary to take on too much at once in a fight. Being able to heal quickly was integral to combat magic and Loki was Asgard’s best battlemage.

Within a few minutes, he was strong enough to stand and enter the cockpit, Thor gave him an assessing look as he passed, but didn’t comment. The turbo laser was just starting to work again, from Valkyrie’s victorious yelling and Loki peered out the viewport.

The red portal hung in the sky, further away than it had been last he was aboard the ship; they must have gone back to the tower to collect him. If he hadn’t been so exhausted from teleporting the Grandmaster, Loki would have used Laevateinn to speed up their progress, or at least shoot down some of the ships following them.

Which reminded him - _Laevateinn_.

He didn’t remember seeing it when he regained consciousness on this ship. Loki strode back into the fuselage, scanned the floor and felt like punching the wall. Of _course_ Thor didn’t bring the object of immense magical power with him. And, with a cursory glance outside, there was no way they were going back to collect it. The poor weapon would have to stay in that awful, gaudy stick. And be wielded by madmen.

Well, at least he knew where it was. Once this all blew over, he could come back here and collect it. If this blew over, that was.

Loki made his way back to the cockpit and stood behind Banner, just watching.

Ahead of them, spears of metal and glass soared out of Sakaar, stretching up to an overcast sky. None were under portals, and the great big monstrosity they were headed for was situated in the centre of a swarm of others. It squatted in the clouds, spitting a stream of rubbish which traffic dodged and swerved around. Despite looking far from appealing; that was their ticket home.

“You’re creeping me out,” The mortal said after a few minutes.

“I’m not doing anything,” Loki protested.

“Yeah. Do something.”

“I would, except I’m tired and Thor forgot to bring the extremely powerful magic stick I found.”

Banner puzzled that over for a moment, then evidently decided he couldn’t be bothered to ask. Which Loki understood; he was concentrating on flying and not-getting-blown-up. Rather important.

When a giant ship appeared out of fucking nowhere, right in front of them, Loki was quite happy he had decided to _not_ annoy their pilot. Because Banner swerved them out of the way, dodged a bolt which would have been exploding in Loki’s face if he hadn’t reacted just in time.

“Oh holy _shit_! Where did that come from?!” Banner squeaked, knuckles white and face equally so.

Loki leant over him, examined the small screen and scowled at the ship, now following them. And then throwing out multiple other projectiles. Missiles. _Lovely_.

Banner noticed too, “We’ve got incoming!” He yelled over his shoulder and swatted at Loki’s shoulder, which was getting in his way. “Can you shoot them?”

Valkyrie’s voice, from back in the fuselage, “No! The turbo laser keeps jamming!”

Loki peered at the controls, then at the portal. It was so _close_! They couldn’t be defeated now, surely?

“They’re probably heat seeking,” Valkyrie yelled. “Most common missiles on Sakaar. Do some Frost Giant ice bullshi-!”

That gave him an idea. Fireworks counted as hot, right?

Loki leant over again, Banner slapping at him futilely, and pushed a big, red button. Almost immediately, the whistle of fireworks and not a moment later, ship-rocking explosions. But not ship- _destroying_ explosions - counted as a win!

A shocked laugh from the mortal, “We’re alive!”

“We won’t be if there’s any more missiles. Only had one set of fireworks.”

Banner gripped his controls, “Nearly there…!”

And they were.

No more buildings rose up in front of them, just a mountainous pile of rubbish, civilian traffic darting above it. And above them, the portal.

It was still an ugly swirling of clouds, with a deep red whirlpool in the centre. But Loki couldn’t care less if the Devil’s Anus looked rather like its namesake.

He stumbled back as Banner yanked on the stick, hurling the ship upwards. They shot into the sky, the floor trembling as engines roared, a deep rumbling in Loki’s ears. Closer, closer, _closer_. Until there was nothing visible but a red that, in places, was so deep it became black. And in others, so light it was pink in an echoing gradient which would pull them across space and out of this slowed time, back to Asgard.

Loki could feel his lungs expanding, collapsing. A breath, another.

And in between one and the next, they were gone.

  
  


Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

**Author's Note:**

> And it's finished! This is my first time finishing a longer story and I'm so happy and proud :D
> 
> Thank you ever so much to everyone who has commented; you make my day and bring the biggest smile to my face, small little thumbs ups and <3s included! I read every one and do my best to reply :)
> 
> I'm already working on the next fic, 'The Skin Beneath Feathers'. However, I'm going to need time to build up buffer chapters (a few months, probably). If you want to know when it's posted, I'd reccomend subscribing to/bookmarking the series 'A Pawn With Heart'.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and look forward to seeing you on the next part of this story! What's happening in Asgard? How is Frigga doing the ghost thing? Will Loki and Thor continue to get along in the face of Hela and Odin??
> 
> In the meantime, good luck in the search for fic <3 :D
> 
> ~Ommallaredpanda.


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